The blood runs red…so very red.

incomprehensible.

Anderson Cooper | BIO
AC360° Anchor

We were covering another story when we heard shots being fired. We ran toward the sound and found a store being looted. Two Haitian police officers were occasionally firing into the air to try to keep order, but that only worked for a few moments, then the looting would begin again.

They were stealing boxes of candles. An American businessman named Tony who owns two stores nearby barricaded one street to keep looters away. He had armed the two Haitian police with automatic weapons, and they were assisting him, but they were not able to control anything beyond their barricade.

It quickly became a free-for-all. Young men began fighting one another for the stolen items. A number of young men had knives, and planks of wood, screwdrivers and rocks. They were using their improvised weapons to threaten and injure others who had stolen items from the store. The robbers were now being robbed. One group of looters whipped another man with a leather belt. They punched him as well, and they stole the sack of goods he’d just stolen.

I was in the midst of the melee with Charlie Moore, my producer, Neil Hallsworth my cameraman, Vlad Duthiers, my translator, and there was a still photographer from Getty Images with us, photojournalist Jonathan Torgovnik. As things got really out of control, I saw a looter on the roof of the store they’d broken into throw what I think was part of a concrete block into the crowd. It hit a small boy in the head.

I saw him collapse. More chunks of concrete were being thrown at the looters on the roof. The injured boy couldn’t get up. He’d try and then collapse again. Blood was pouring from his head. He was conscious but had no control over his body. I was afraid someone on the roof would see him lying there and throw another cinder block piece onto him. I was afraid he’d get killed. No one seemed to be helping him.

I ran to where he was struggling, and picked him up off the ground. I brought him to a spot about a hundred feet away. I could feel his warm blood on my arms. I stood him up, but he was clearly unable to walk. He wiped his bloody face, and I tried to reassure him. He had no idea where he was, and he clearly couldn’t walk, so I picked him up again and handed him over to someone behind that makeshift barricade. Tony, the American businessman, gave the boy a wet towel. He was then taken away by someone else. We don’t know what happened to him.

I hope he’s ok.

via

People.

Sometimes I really appreciate people and their stories.

PostSecret: Confessions on Life, Death and God from Frank Warren on Vimeo.

My secret is: I know a week has gone by every saturday at midnight, because that’s when Post Secret is updated. Highlight of my week :)

D.C approves first vote, New York rejects.

The gay marriage debate is forever circling the world of politics. Today New York state rejected the bill to approve gay marriage, which would give equal rights to homosexual couples as heterosexual. Another blow to the community, but I’m confident it will pass…eventually. So far Massachusetts, Connecticut, Iowa and Vermont allow same-sex marriages with New Hampshire joining them in January. Although it’s only a few states, they are way ahead of Australia whose politicians refuse to accept the notion.

Here is a speech given my Staten Island Senator Diane Savino. “It is deeply powerful, completely rational, and utterly correct.” via.

Paper Heart.

Paper Heart has finally been released on DVD, so I was finally able to watch it. In fact I finished it just now.

Paper Heart is a pseudo documentary/comedy about Charlyne Yi, an American comedian slash actor slash musician slash artist that played a small role in Judd Apatow’s Knocked Up. She insists that she is incapable of love, well the relationsip love-love kind, so she and friend Nick Jasenovec (Jake M. Johnson) set out to make a film searching for it’s secrets. As they begin to shoot, Yi meets Michael Cera at a party, although initially reluctant their evolving relationship puts into question Yi’s stubborn and cynical stance. Here’s the trailer:

What makes this film interesting and hard to place is that it’s shot in a documentary style, mostly all shots are hand-held camera footage, but it isn’t entirely truthful. Nor can it accurately be described as a mockumentary. All the interviews conducted by Yi and Johnson are truthful, they are real people telling their own real stories about love and loss and all the gooey stuff in between, including the celebrities. However, the premise for the film, her doubt in “love”, isn’t accurate, nor is her relationship with Cera. Yi and Cera basically play a fictionalised version of themselves, while Johnson takes on the role of Nick. Yi and Johnson have taken to labeling the film as a “hybrid documentary”.

Even though the only constant storyline is fictional, it doesn’t cheapen the story. Predictably, I loved it. I thought the film was sweet without being boring, any story about love and relationships falls into the cliche` category for me, but the PH team approached it well. The real interviews are what the film is really about. The Yi/Cera storyline was a fictional addition that just helps explore the subject they are trying to pick apart.

The main interviews are inter-cut with cardboard puppet dramatisations, held by Yi, which make for a much more visually stimulating scene than a couple of people waxing lyrical about their relationship. It also makes the stories more compelling to listen to because you are listening to the subject speak, but they are having their story acted out in an incredible way. The interviews with the kids on the playground was the most entertaining, and comparing their ideas based on observation to those of who have lived it all, it makes for some fun times:

Charlyne: “What do you think is the most perfect date?”
Girl: ” You need to take some to Applebees and get them some HOT WINGS!”

Lucky Boy.

In commending the documentary aspects of the film, I have to admit that the actors gave a great performance – but maybe because they were pretty much playing themselves (When has Michael Cera not played a character identical to himself? Maybe Youth in Revolt will show some growth?). Either way, their relationship was simple enough and underplayed to the point of being believable.

The film also raised a lot of questions and provided maybe a few answers to some frequently asked questions. These are some things that struck me as interesting thoughts:

• The thought that everyone has a ‘true love’ waiting for them. Do they really? And if they do, who is to say that that love will be reciprocated? This is perhaps a more pessimistic view, but I think it’s a very real and valid question.
• The idea that everyone means the world to at least one person. That’s a nice warm and fuzzy one.
• An elderly couple that met in junior high school say that young love is the most important of all. But I never had that, and I am willing to bet that many haven’t. Does that mean we’ve missed out?
• Is it worth it? Especially relationships pursued earlier in life that, for the most part, seem to end inevitably. Is the eventual hurt worth it?
• The big one: how do you know?

The Paper Heart never explicitly gives the audience an answer, but it does provide enough evidence for the audience to make up their own mind, and hopefully give them some hope. After all, it is quite an uplifting and thoughtful film, even with the sad turns – but that’s the most real way to approach such a universal idea slash emotion.

COM459 Assignment #2

This piece expands on the entry a wrote a little while ago about my trip to Portland. I fixed it up, made it a little longer – and hopefully better.

I had been in the country for less than a week and already it was happening. At first I was scared and apprehensive, I thought I had made a right mess of everything.

I arrived in Portland, Oregon after spending around 18 hours in transit. Jet-lagged, tired and lost I waddled to my hostel lugging twenty kilos on my back. Once I arrived, sitting on my top bunk in a room that housed six girls, self doubts were running through my head. What was I doing? What was I THINKING? It was obvious to me at the time that I hadn’t thought this through. Adventures like this are so plausible inside ones head, but reality can swiftly knock you off that cloud you had been so happily occupying.

I had arrived in a foreign country by myself, I didn’t know anyone and had never done such a thing before. I was in way over my head. So I did the best thing I could do at the time; freaked the hell out. I broke down. I showered, hoping it would wash away the puffy eyes and the holidayer’s equivalent of buyer’s remorse. But I didn’t stop crying, I felt pathetic.

It was a rocky start to a holiday that was meant to be ‘self-actualising’. I decided to spend a week in Portland before I headed north to Seattle, Washington where I would be living for the next three months. I had applied to the exchange program through my home university, La Trobe in Australia. At the time, I wanted out. I was felt stagnate, and I knew that this time I wasn’t prepared to just accept it. I was now old enough to take charge and I had run out of excuses.

So there I was, nine months after I applied, in America with big expectations. I had never felt so completely vulnerable before. There was a sudden realisation of how reliant I was on my friends and family. I didn’t have a phone, so I wasn’t able to get distracted by anyone else’s stories during my day. I had them completely to myself. Due to the time difference, the only time I could really speak to anyone was late at night.

After spending a few days in the city, I started to settle. The tears stopped and I was able to appreciate where I was and how I got there. I began to find my way around without a map, I knew what buses to take and where to get them from. I walked around the entire city and with each step I gained a little more confidence in myself.

***

My meeting with Jonathan Legare was serendipitous. On my second last day in Portland I decided to track down the houses and landmarks of my favourite musicians who had once inhabited the city, or still did. It was the one thing I had planned to do. One of the great things about the city is that it doesn’t really have any big tourist destinations. Apart from Oregon’s natural attractions, Portland doesn’t boast landmarks with $20 entry and lines that curl around corners; it’s just nice to be there.

My week was spent exploring the city, the parks, the shops – no sales tax – and the neighbouring areas. Hawthorne became one of my favourite areas to hang out and is where most of my story takes place.

My self guided tour wasn’t meticulously planned. It was a result of much googling and sneaky research. Elliott Smith became my main subject. He died in 2003 at age 34 while in Los Angeles, California. He spent most of his life in Portland, and it is speculated he took ‘Elliott’ from a street he lived on in Portland – he was born Steven Paul Smith.

With locations scribbled down, I tracked down Lincoln High School where Smith had graduated. It’s odd visiting a place that has some historical significance but carries on like it always did. I didn’t go inside because it’s still a functioning high school, so I didn’t get to see it as well as I would have liked. It was nice to be there though, to see where he grew up, we he started to grow into the person he would become.

The rest of my tour would take me to Hawthorne where I ate at Cup and Saucer, one of Smith’s old hangouts, where I tried to get an exact address. I also visited Artichoke Music where Smith and his friend Neil Gust traded a bike for an old acoustic guitar. The people in both shops had no idea where I could find his old home, or any of his others. The Artichoke Music folks didn’t even know who I was talking about, which was quite the blow to the idealistic music fan. I thought this town would be buzzing with musical history, and people would be putting hand-to-heart when they uttered the name Elliott Smith in reverent tones. Alas, reality is always a disappointing alternative to my imagination so I continued my journey to find Elliott Ave.

I had a photo in hand of a house that was meant to be Smiths old home. After walking down Elliott Avenue, reaching the area of Ladds Addition, passing that area and making it to Division St, I still hadn’t found his house. I was also a little lost.

There was one shop in the small suburban area, Legare’s Community Resource Centre, that  I walked into flustered and red faced. The residual summer sun was beating down when I expected a mild fall.

Jonathan greeted me a with a friendly smile and a very helpful disposition. I simple asked if he had heard about Elliott Smith and whether his house was in the area. Instead of a dismissive ‘no’ he asked his friend Brock, who had his laptop out. Brock and I did some more googling to no avail. So Jonathan decided to send up some text messages and make some calls to people who might know. I was surprised at his willingness to help. Coming to the country I didn’t expect to run into such friendly and welcoming people, I thought I would get the ‘annoying tourist’ treatment. To be honest, I felt kind of guilty, like I was wasting their time, helping me with my petty quest to live some unlikely fantasy.

Jon offered me some coffee – real coffee like we use at home, not crappy American drip – and his signature guava cookies (which were amazing!). At this point more people had entered the shop, there were about five people on he case now. It was unbelievable to me how helpful everyone was. I had suddenly met all these people who were willing to help out a stranger, no questions asked. I was so happy to be there, I almost forgot what had brought me there in the first place.

Then, after hanging out for over an hour, Jon got a call back from his friend, Steve, who used to be a music producer. Steve had the answer.

Jon came with me to find the house while Steve was on the phone – he got the others to ‘mind’ the shop. We didn’t have to walk long before we found it. So there it was. On the corner of 15^th and Division, a big old run down double storey house undergoing some serious renovations. I was standing in front of the house where Elliott Smith wrote the songs that I loved, where he lived and where he was inspired. The odd thing was, by the time I had reached my destination, I didn’t really care as much as I thought I would. Yes, I had found the house; but my entire day was so surprising and special that the end result didn’t seem as important as it did when my day began. I couldn’t believe the hospitality I had run into, and it was also a huge reality check. I was in a foreign country by myself, meeting people, hearing stories and asking questions; I was no longer scared.

Leading up to this day all I could think of was what could go wrong, I had all these potential dangers running through my mind. I doubted my ability to do it on my own. I was hoping this trip would do something to me, that it would give me some perspective at least, and within a week I had already noticed a change. I may not be self-actualised, but I do have some stories to tell.

COM459 Assignment #1

Here is a very short narrative journalism piece I wrote for class. It was graded well so I thought it might be safe to share.

It is raining, hard. I enjoy cold, rainy days but it makes it difficult to get around, and there’s always that part of your backpack that sticks out beyond the umbrella’s protective shield.

There is that great moment though, when you step out of the rain, shake your umbrella and you are completely aware of your sudden dry surroundings. I’m appreciative that I’m not that woman across the road, shoving stuff into her trunk. I’m standing in the doorway of ‘Fremont Vintage Mall’, like many of Fremont’s attractions, it’s an escape from the present. It’s a neighbourhood determined to maintain its quirks, striving to create an alternative world.

Down the single stair case lies a melting pot of era’s. Collectables, clothing, furniture, toys, records, jewellery; it’s around 80 years of history thrown together only for you to pick apart. The first thing that catches my eye is a pair of 1970′s white roller skates, I pick them up to check the size, seven, they wouldn’t fit. But I don’t think I couldn’t use them anyway, they are bricks on wheels. I make a left, past woven lampshades and a “Jesus, guide me as I pass this way” broach sitting under a photo of a provocative Betty Page, and head down another flight of stairs where they keep the furniture. Past the scarves and necklaces, there’s a faded red Special Cruiser leaning against a pale green refurbished end table that is topped with an old Super 8 camera. It’s a huge bike, almost a caricature of what bike really looks like. Its handles are undersized limbs attached to a chunky skeleton that bears the weight of a seat that is the width of a regular chair. It could use a good clean up, the white seat is torn exposing the aging yellow foam beneath, but it is still a beautiful looking bike. “They don’t make them like that anymore!” rings in my head as something my dad would say if he saw it.

On a dresser a little further down are a bunch on telephones, rotary dials and buttons, in black, white and red. Up and across from it, above my head, are working traffic lights leaning against the wall. Both the red and green lights are lit; I wonder if that’s the reason it no longer sits above peak hour traffic. Then below it is a basket of old toys. What is so striking about them is not that they are cute, but the complete opposite. They’re horrifying. There is a squeaky animal thing lying hopelessly on it’s aged back, it looks like a rabbit, maybe. But it has the ears of a bear. And the face of a child. There’s a pair of overweight babies sitting on their tubby bums with cheeky smiles. Then there’s another weird animal, a donkey? A horse? They’re a far cry from the flashing, spinning, noisy, mechanic, automated, battery operated toys of today. It’s a wonder how my parents generation turned out relatively normal.

Across the room I notice a couple of other people down here too, a mother showing her daughter around, she looked about seven or so. They were over near the stairs by the glass cases that housed a mixture of things from 1940′s jewellery to posters of Bowie and Prince. The way everything is displayed, the way we all look around at the many objects around us, we take the same care we would at a museum. The pots and pans, the claw foot bathtub, the laminex tables, they all share something about years past. I think that is what makes vintage shopping so appealing; we all go to find artefacts of lost years, something unique among the often monotonous objects that plague modern consumerism. It’s ironic really because at the time of objects popularity they were common place.

We are on a quest to find some connection to a past that isn’t ours, well not mine at least; an idealistic ‘simpler’ time. Though that’s what is so deceiving about nostalgia, it’s an idealistic recollection where we pick and choose and the parts we like.

Back upstairs sifting through 1950′s dresses it is so easy to get lost in thoughts of living every day looking incredibly feminine in my a-line dress, but reject every negative aspect of that era when the reality is that it was probably worse.

Over by the clothes racks a boyfriend is playing with his cell phone while his girlfriend flicks through some petite 1960′s blouses, I decide it’s time to leave this warped time machine and go home. Back outside the rain has eased, Starbucks is still on the corner and another SUV drives by while I head home thinking of how cute I would look in a crinoline.

Everything But Scraps.

My Soundslides assignment for my COM495 class.

Paint it black.

I know, I know, it’s been a little while between posts. My excuse: life.
Now on exchange and settling into the US of A, classes have begun and I’m ready to do some learnin’.

It seems blogging has become quite popular in every course I’ve done lately, from writing classes at home to my multimedia comm class here at UW so I thought I’d return with a little cultural comparison.

Unfortunately I was not in the country to witness the ‘triumphant’ (jks guys) return of Hey Hey it’s Saturday in September and the follow up reunion show on October 7, but from what I’ve seen it doesn’t look like I missed much.

Looking back, I remember loving this show as a child. It was colourful and entertaining and the dirty jokes went over my head, but watching it now I wonder whether it was actually any good. Was it better suited to the era that it ran in? Were we entertained differently? Maybe it’s just me? It wasn’t so long ago that it ended, surely not much has changed.

Either way, I was pretty horrified by the most recent episode. While it has sparked debate and a “chorus of criticism” (which redeems us a little bit) it’s a wonder how the following sketch made it onto the show at all:

(here’s the link to the Gawker article that inspired the post.)

I know ‘blackface’ might not be as familiar to Australians as it is to Americans, but I would like to think my country isn’t so naive as to think the performance appropriate for a 21st century skit with no comedic appeal. Blackface was a comedic routine in American and British theatre that presented a caricature of African Americans, it played on and encouraged racist stereotypes and today is and should only be used as commentary on CHANGING social behaviour.

I’m unsure whether I should share this with my class or not because basically, I’m embaressed. I’m embaressed that the audience laughed. I’m embaressed that those men were doctors. I’m embaressed that Daryl said that as ‘an American’ Harry would find it offensive as to imply that none of us agree, and I’m embaressed that it was allowed to occur.

This is the second most recent performance of black face I have seen though the response evokes a different reaction. The first was on an episode of Mad Men during the wedding of Jane and Roger Sterling.

I think this is a fair comparison because a) Mad Men is a period drama, the performance was in the context of the year 1963. b) Even with the performance based in 1963, a disapproving Don Draper is noticable. c) The Hey Hey performance was only a few nights ago the cackle of appreciation of the audience members is shockingly similar. Finally, Mad Men, through including the scene, highlighted just how offensive and ridiculous such a performance is.

As Jane sickeningly giggles her way through her husband’s serenade, I’m uncomfortable but I laugh at the situation. A bunch of rich white couples sincerely enjoying a performance we now SHOULD find outdated and insensitive. Don takes the moral high ground and leaves (let’s ignore his sexist behaviour for the moment), he chooses to act as many of us would have. It’s a representation that was never accurate to begin with, it was basically slapstick racism. As soon at those one glove wearing, sad excuse for an act entered the stage my immediate thought was ‘this is not going to go down well’. I expected ‘boos’ to ensue, but alas they were treated with the same welcoming applause and laughter as they would have recieved in the 50′s.

What is even more disturbing is as we are such a comparatively young country, we have a long way to go in terms of social and racial equality. Yes we are a western nation, but we are closer to Asia than any other western country (New Zealand aside) and we have one of the most diverse populations in the world. We have seen how long it took for America to vote a Black president into office, does Australia have to wait the same amount of time to achieve the same or at least change it’s attitude? In general, we have a hard time treating our own indigenous people with the respect they deserve (it is rightfully their land), so how can we move forward if we are so willing to repeat mistakes of the past, whether they be ours or those of others. Our past is just as shameful as America’s after all.

I know this mistake is only a small moment amongst many but it revealed something about Australia that I didn’t think I really had to worry about. It’s not the image I want to have of my home, and it’s not something I want others to see.

Parents just don’t understand.

“OMG 143 let’s get some 420 and go to a 1174 and find a FB so they can FMLTWIA, IF/IB. WYCM l8r?”

I’m a big fan of articles that claim to have discovered the secret life of teenagers. Aside from the fact that these are generally hilarious and erroneous discoveries, they make me wonder if adults/parents remember what it was like. Not in a ‘oh em gee, they just don’t understand what it’s like” kind of way, but a “there are some things you have to keep from your parents” kind of way. Teenagers have been exploring their sexuality for generations, hell the average age of pregnancy was once 14. So why is it surprising or shocking that it is still happening? Or even that they have discovered a new medium to explore?

It seems that parents have become incredibly naive to the next generation the older that  they get, and while they may insist that they have ‘lived that life’, the truth is; they haven’t. They lived in a completely different era with completely different technology and socialised in circles that functioned in a completely different way. (I finished high school two years ago. Within my six years I noticed a difference in how we worked with each other. Who knows how much changed in the 30 years between my parents and I.)

These guys know how it’s done!

Which brings me to this piece of information that was vomited from Fox 5 Atlanta:

Top 50 Text Acronyms Parents Should Know

1	8	Oral sex
2	1337	Elite
3	143	I love you
4	182	I hate you
5	459	I love you
6	1174	Nude club
7	420	Marijuana
8	ADR	Address
9	ASL	Age/Sex/Location
10	Banana	Penis
11	CD9 or Code 9	Parents are around
12	DUM	Do You Masturbate?
13	DUSL	Do You Scream Loud?
14	FB	F*** Buddy
15
16	FMLTWIA	F*** Me Like The Whore I Am
17	FOL	Fond of Leather
18	GNOC	Get Naked On Cam
19	GYPO	Get Your Pants Off
20	IAYM	I Am Your Master
21	IF/IB	In the Front or In the Back
22	IIT	Is It Tight?
23	ILF/MD	I Love Female/Male Dominance
24	IMEZRU	I Am Easy, Are You?
25	IWSN	I Want Sex Now
26	J/O	Jerking Off
27	KFY or K4Y	Kiss For You
28	Kitty	Vagina
29	KPC	Keeping Parents Clueless
30	MorF	Male or Female
31	LMIRL	Let’s Meet In Real Life
32	MOOS	Member Of The Opposite Sex
33	WYCM	Will You Call Me?
34	MOS	Mom Over Shoulder
35	MPFB	My Personal F*** Buddy
36	NALOPKT	Not A Lot Of People Know That
37	NIFOC	Nude In Front Of The Computer
38	NMU	Not Much, You?
39	P911	Parent Alert
40	PAL	Parents Are Listening
41	PAW	Parents Are Watching
42	PIR	Parent In Room
43	POS	Parent Over Shoulder or Piece Of Sh**
44	PRON	Porn
45	Q2C	Quick To Cum
46	RU/18	Are You Over 18?
47	RUH	Are You Horny?
48	S2R	Send To Receive
49	SorG	Straight or Gay
50	TDTM	Talk Dirty To Me

First of all, where is number 15? But more importantly, WHO USES THESE? SERIOUSLY? HAS ANYONE EVER SEEN THESE EVER?!

Am I missing something? I’m familiar with ASL, that is quite common. but 1174? Why does that even exist? Anyone who uses that and is concerned about being caught out by their parents shouldn’t be allowed to even LINE UP at a strip club.  FMLTWA? DUSL? NALOPKT?

Do enough kids even know about these for them to work successfully in a covert conversation? Can they remember wtf they are saying?

Lindsay from my favourite blog ever posted something similar about ‘sexting‘. apparently it’s an epidemic we should all be extremely concerned about. OMGEMSA! (Oh My God, Eat My Shorts Adults!)

Parents may be shocked but I’m baffled. By my own generation. I’m going now. I’m confused. 

You can do it, put your back into it.

My mum always told me i could achieve anything if i put mind to it.

Star Trek Fan Turns Apartment Into Spaceship: Man Overboard?

Published yesterday by ■ M Dee Dubroff	Share:
10 votes | 8 comments | Email | Print |  Subscribe to author

+Add image   Paimeiitguy.wordpress.com Stra Trek’s Immortal Crew Vote up this image!

Meet Tony Alleyne, a Star Trek fan from England who has transformed his entire flat into a replica of the show’s starship, Voyager. Read on for more outer spatially -related details about his eight-year long endeavor.

According to news sources, it all began as a therapeutic hobby for the 56-year-old trekkie whose eight-year long mission was to recreate scenes from the immensely popular television series of the 1960s at his studio apartment in Hinckley, Leicestershire, England. Following a divorce, instead of crying into his soup, Tony Alleyne redirected his energy into turning his entire property into the starship, Voyageur. (Makes perfect sense, right?) 

The center-piece of the one-bedroom flat is a life-size copy of the ship’s command console, which controls the lights and sound effects. Instead of facing each new day waking up next to his wife, Tony awakens to the sounds of a voice-activated computer system that turns on fluorescent light tubes that bleep”good morning” and a replica of the “beam me up” transporter! Even the doorbell has been customized to play the voice of Patrick Stewart in his role as captain Jean-Luc Picard. 

In Mr. Alleyne’s own words: 

“Building this has been like a dream. I had a vision and I am really amazed at what I have managed to achieve with just hard work. It all started as therapy after I split with my wife – building every bit from scratch really helped me to deal with the stress of it all. My whole life over the last few years has gone into this, I have given up absolutely everything. Some people might think I’m a bit of a sad individual but I’m not. I’m just really into Star Trek – it’s really my only vice in life.” 

It really is quite a labor of love and an amazing achievement accomplished on a limited budget of around £4,000 (about $8,000 US dollars and who knows how much in Star Trek currency). 

There’s only one teeny-weeny problem. Tony’s wife, Georgina, owns the flat that has become his starship Voyageur. 

How much can a man really forget under those circumstances? 

Now I believe.