Life (And Sandwiches)

Word of the Week...

2008-12-18T12:56:00.001Z

Emblem

–noun

1.	an object or its representation, symbolizing a quality, state, class of persons, etc.; symbol: The olive branch is an emblem of peace.

2.	a sign, design, or figure that identifies or represents something: the emblem of a school.

3.	an allegorical picture, often inscribed with a motto supplemental to the visual image with which it forms a single unit of meaning.

4.	Obsolete. an inlaid or tessellated ornament.

–verb (used with object)

5.	to represent with an emblem.

When Should a Celebration not be a Celebration?

2008-12-15T23:11:00.000Z

Three events this year have forced me to worry about the state of the world. You may be thinking things like the credit crunch, or the terrorist attack in India, but you would be wrong. We will always have terror and we will always have economic slumps. These aren't news and so they don't make me worry.

No, instead, these are the three events:

Mamma Mia makes more money at the box office than The Dark Knight in the UK, and is probably going to beat it in DVD sales too.
The Tales of Beedle the Bard, the latest book that is mildly related to Harry Potter, sells a ridiculous amount in the week it is released.
I finish watching Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip and am faced with the fact that another well-written, intelligent show has been cancelled WAY too soon.

Now let me state now that this isn't some hate rant on various media that I don't like. I didn't mind Mamma Mia and I have read and enjoyed the Harry Potter books. So, this isn't a rant on the quality, it is a rant on the celebrated status they have achieved.

Why, oh world, must we celebrate mediocrity?!

Mamma Mia will never go down in the history books as an amazing film. It isn't even the best musical made. It is made up of crowbarred Abba songs on a loose plot. And yet, when asked to pick the year's best actress, the British public voted Meryl Streep and nominated Piece Brosnan.

You might like the cheese, or the songs. But there is no way any logical person could honestly tell me with a straight face that the film contained even the remotest trace of a good performance.

And here we are, giving out rewards to something that isn't smart, or well-made, but just fun.

Harry Potter seems to have been given some kind of special treatment too. First, the series has somehow managed to find its way onto the regular fiction shelf, as opposed to the Fantasy section it belongs in. Then, people seem to have ignored the fact that the last few books are extremely overwritten; The Goblet of Fire's first act lasts for 450-odd pages. Also, nothing even happens in the sixth book!

The series is formulaic and written in a very workman-like way. I can give her credit and say that she picked up on childhood dreams and created a fairly convincing world, but this does not entitle the books to be treated like the gold that they are.

And I can forgive people for this. The series ended (rather anti-climatically) a while ago, so I could just forget it all.

So why am I now selling hundreds of copies of a new Harry Potter based book!? The thing is tiny, yet is going for the same price as a normal book. People are paying too, and to read what? A collection of short stories, which are just retellings of older myths and legends!

It is nothing amazing and nothing new and yet, with the tag of Harry Potter stamped onto it, people flock.

These are two recent examples, but there are many more. People are gravitating towards the mindless entertainment. This, in itself, is fine, as long as people can acknowledge what they are consuming for what it is: Mindless!

Madness ensues when people reward the mindless and the banal.

And then a show comes along that challenges. The scripts are razor-sharp, and the plot balances humour and drama perfectly. It requires you to think, and doesn't hand you everything on a shiny, silver exposition plate.

And no-one watches it.

Come on people! Stop being happy with mediocrity and challenge yourselves once in a little while. Read something which won prizes or watch a raved-about indie! As a society, we can't numb our brains on the average. And we certainly shouldn't celebrate it.

That way, Armageddon lies.

:D

Word of the Week...

2008-12-11T12:10:00.001Z

Enteric

–adjective

1.	of or pertaining to the enteron; intestinal.

–noun

2.	enterics, Bacteriology.

Overheard I

2008-12-09T15:46:00.000Z

Customer (To her friend): How can John Lennon bring out a biography when he's dead?

:D

Cense and Censorbility

2008-12-08T15:41:00.003Z

I'm continually amazed by the sheer lunacy of the human race. We live in a fabulous planet; full of beauty and spectacle and life; and we spend so much of our time deciding what is allowed, what is normal and what age people should be to handle certain aspects.

The government is going to and/or has already started stickering books with age recommendations.

We have a long tradition of protecting children from the media, and I am all for it. You can argue where the lines are, but I believe it right that small children shouldn't be able to watch violence or sex on film, because it can seem like real life to them. They'd get scarred and we'd have one more slightly warped individual in the world.

But, and this is a capital-letter BUT, a book is a book is a book! Words are indistinguishable symbols to anyone who does know the semantics. We're talking science here. A child can read the word penis and would have no image to call to mind. And so, the world is blunt. Harmless. A word!

However, let us imagine for a moment that a book isn't a collection of harmless symbols. Let us say, for example, that a book called Book X contains lexical choices that may scar poor little ten-year old Jimmy.

We'd also have to imagine that this book has been placed in the children's section of a bookstore and that Jimmy had parents stupid enough to not look at the dust cover before making their purchase. Let us imagine all this to be true.

So, now, what age does Jimmy have to be? Let's say it contains a character dying; how old does Jimmy have to be to truly understand that people sometimes die and sometimes it isn't fair. I'm 21, and I still haven't come to terms with this.

At the moment it is age guidelines, but we are steps away from books being restricted by laws. So now, we're banning The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe because people die. We ban The Hobbit. People croak it in Harry Potter and A Series of Unfortunate Events, and Goodnight Mister Tom is all about war. All classics, all found in the 8-11 section at Waterstones, and all under threat of having high age restrictions placed on them because children might be moved by them.

Since when has a book making someone sad been a bad thing? Since when have we tried to stop children learning more about the world?

A book provides a safe place for a child to explore the world. A fictional character dying, whilst sad, provides a nice starting place for discussion about the nature of death. I would rather that a child of mine was sad for a week than ignorant for a lifetime.

It is also quite intriguing to see that the chief things that any government tries to censor are the things most natural to human existence: sex and death. To hide any of this is to make it seem unnatural and wrong, and children grow up with a skewed perception.

And since when, as these guidelines seem to be suggesting, have all children been at the same stage of intelligence? It is false that there is a universal age in which to talk about some things and not others. One twelve-year-old might be able to grasp adult plots, whilst a second has trouble understanding the dilemmas of Billy Blue Hat.

To group them all pulls the bright children back and puts pressure on the ones with difficulties. The only children that become unaffected are the average ones, and why are we trying to build a society around being average?

But, you may cry, no-one cares about the restrictions on books. They're just guidelines. And with the latter point you are right.

But I work in a bookstore and I see that people DO care. They DO look at the age guidelines and make decisions based on them, as opposed to the more sensible option of asking any of the very knowledgeable staff members. Because, hey, we're just trying to sell them a book; what do we know?

We have had people who have complained that a book contains the word dead on the front cover in a children's section. This would be funny if it wasn't a daily occurrence.

These parents will choose not to buy a book two years above their child's reading age, and so that child suffers.

Reversely, an older child, or the parents of one, will decide that a book with a younger sticker is just too childish for them. This closes off more options to them, including some of the best books ever written. I am, of course, speaking of Winnie the Pooh. No-one grows out of that book.

I feel it is time to try and conclude this cluster of vaguely connected thoughts. Censorship is wrong. I guess that the point has been made, even if it isn't as eloquent as I would have liked. Children, nah, EVERYBODY should have the right to explore their world, and books are the easiest and safest way to do so.

The idea of cordoning off some words and some worlds until you reach a certain age is not only insane, it is regression. As a society, a country, and a human race, we should be providing access to the tools to learn, to explore and to grow and not hiding them in a cupboard marked "For 18 year olds only".

And it's good to know I'm not the only one who thinks so.

:D

http://arventur.deviantart.com/art/Fairy-book-69740802

Ghost Town

2008-11-23T00:18:00.002Z

What's It All About?
Ricky Gervais is a dentist who hates people (like the Greg House for dental hygiene). When he dies briefly during an operation he finds that he can see ghosts. Oh, and they want his help.

To get rid of the nagging undead, Ricky makes a deal with Greg Kinear: if he can stop Greg's wife marrying a do-good fiancée, then the dead will leave him alone.

Cue romantic comedy sickliness.

Pre-Thoughts
The trailer did nothing for me. The idea was nice, but it seemed all cute and sickly and predictable. We knew how the story was going to play out by the end of the two minutes, and the jokes didn't look good enough to negate this fact.

Oh well, with Bond already out and seen, there wasn't much more choice. Beggars can't be choosers and all that.

Post-Thoughts
Repeat after me: Ricky Gervais is not a romantic lead. Got it?

Because at least a dozen people in Hollywood never got this memo. No-one, from executive producer down to director, questioned the logic of putting a portly Brit in the main role in a rom-com. Not one of them sat down and really thought "David Brent? Really?!"

Don't get me wrong here, I like Ricky Gervais. He is quite the funny fellow, when writing his own part or in fitted roles. He has the bit-too-arrogant-but-sweet character down pat, but falls short here when playing disgruntled. His grumpiness never comes across as a real character trait, but more an illness that he will cure during the course of the film.

So, even with an interesting premise, the film can never reaches the heights it should. It tries. Heaven knows that it tries. It plays jokes left, right and centre; from slapstick to sophisticated. Some land, others are played wrongly and some just aren't funny. And in this hailstorm of jokes, the film forgets what it has going for it.

The film is sweet. Occasionally to the point of sickness, but predominantly just on the right side of the line. Watching the ghost's storylines get solved, or seeing the inevitable relationship form tugs on heartstrings. When the film gets melancholic, it gets good.

Greg Kinear plays the funny sidekick with skill and ease, slipping from jokey to serious within the blink of an eye. I would argue that his was the more interesting arch in the film.

Most other roles with so-so, with exceptions to a few cast members from Knocked Up.

But the script never rises above the premise. Everything unfolds like you expect it to, up to (and including) the horrid, happy ending that these type of films feel the need to nail on, despite the events previous to it.

An important plot point is wrong, which sort-of negates half the film; the main character is mostly insufferable; and the whole thing takes an age to start being anything.

So I hated it, right?

Maybe.

But it was sweet. Somehow, the sum was more than the parts and I walked out without feeling I'd wasted money. It was romantic trash, but it was romantic trash with heart. And ghosts!

And I'd already watched Bond. Beggars can't be choosers!

The Little Girl in the Daisies

2008-11-18T00:18:00.001Z

A while back now, I lost a close friend in a car accident. A lorry had pulled out at twice the speed limit, slammed into the side of her, killing her almost instantly. I didn't cry when I heard the news. I didn't cry at her funeral. It wasn't until two weeks later that I let her death affect me.

I was miles away from home, and alone, in the countryside. I had found a field of daisies and sat myself down in the middle of them. I began to think about the good times gone, and the ones never had. I picked at some of the flowers around me, bright white in the sunshine. I close my eyes and let the tears fall, and I forgot about everything else.

"Are you okay?" were the words that brought be back to the real world. I opened my eyes to find them looking at a young girl. She wore a pink dress, and her hazel hair fell long down her back. She held her hands behind her back like she held a secret I wasn't allowed to see.

"I'm not sure." I replied. It was a moment of honestly I would have usually hidden. It felt wrong.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

And I told her. And as I did, I discovered why I had been crying at the same time the little girl did.

I had her look at the huge field, filled with millions of daisies, and I told her to imagine that they were all people. I had lost a friend, and it should be a terrible loss. But if I removed one daisy from the field, it wouldn't change anything. The field would still be beautiful, and anyone coming tomorrow would have no idea that a flower was even missing.

The girl listened quietly as I explained this, nodding occasionally. When I finished, she took out a handkerchief and handed it to me.

"That's a sad way to look at life."

I wiped my eyes, before questioning her logic.

"All these daisies look the same to the sky.' she explained, 'but you are down amongst them. There are millions of them, but only a few count."

She pointed to one flower. "That one is missing half of its petals."

She pointed down to my leg. "And those ones are tickling the bottom of your leg."

She sniffed the air "And that sweet smell isn't coming from the flowers all the way over there. It is coming from here, the daisies around you."

"Those daisies are important to you. They are the ones that touch you, brighten your day, and make a difference to you. The only people that don't care about the daisies are the ones with none around them. And they are lonely people. Or, the sky."

She only said one more thing. She curtsied and said "You're allowed to cry."

Then she ran away before I could thank her or return her handkerchief.

I sat for a while and thought about the little girl's words. When the world started making sense again, I picked a handful of daisies and took them with me.

When I got home, I took a drive to the church and laid them on my friend's grave. I crouched down and closed my eyes, hoping that my words would mean something.

"You were my favourite daisy."

:D

http://iceytina.deviantart.com/art/Daisy-a-Commision-for-me-30010172

Burn After Reading

2008-11-17T09:28:00.000Z

What's It All About?
John Malcovich quits (read: is fired) from the CIA and decides to write a memoir. His wife is cheating on him with George Clooney (Well, who wouldn't?).

He is also cheating on her with a woman who works in a gym with Brad Pitt. They find a CD in the locker room containing John's memoir and decide to blackmail him.

It gets hard to explain what happens after that.

Pre-Thoughts
It's the Cohan brothers back on comedy form after the good, but depressing, No Country For Old Men. My favourite film of theirs is the underated The Hudsucker Proxy, and this seems to follow suit. And with George Clooney and Brad Pitt no less!

Post-Thoughts
Let me tell you a little story.

Once upon a time, I was told that the film Magnolia was very good, and deserving of a watch. So, being the trusting type, I borrowed the DVD and sat myself down at midnight to watch it. Three hours later (It's a long bloody film!) I came away thinking "That was a waste of three hours of my life!"

I have mellowed since, but the fact still remains that I didn't enjoy it. I should have. Tom Cruise acts his little button socks off, as do the rest of a surprising amazing cast. The reason I didn't like it was that throughout the whole three hour running time, there wasn't a point.

People did stuff and things happened it, but at no point did the sum of the parts become greater than the whole. It was meant to be about coincidence, but the only thing that connected everybody together was the fact that frogs rained down on them all!

But I'm not reviewing Magnolia here, as the title may have cleverly told you. I mention the story because Burn After Reading reminded me of Magnolia so much, it was creepy.

But whereas the latter was about things being connected, BFR is meant to be about nothing. It is basically a tale of much ado about nothing. That is the point. It is a film about nothing.

Did it work? No.

George Clooney, Brad Pitt, et al deliver fine performances across the board, relishing characters that the wouldn't usually get to play. Pitt is specifically outstanding as the enthusatic, idiotic gym trainer. Most of the big laughs come from him, and his fate becomes even more heartbreaking because of this.

The scenes are fun too. There are nice subtle moments, including a running gag about running and little lines that reveal how little the characters really know.

But it goes nowhere. The film follows all six of the characters at various points and it works against it. No-one grows and there is no arc. Things happen, followed by other things, until we reach the credits. It is wanders aimlessly around when they should have chosen to stick with one character.

I'd go as far as saying that it was two drafts short of being a good film. Because the ingredients were there. They had some interesting characters and a nice plot hidden amongst the things that happened. It's just a shame that it was still buried with the film they released.

Lastly, the Cohen brothers seemed to have lost the ability to end a film. No Country's ending lost it a point when I saw it during a film festival, and this time round, they just shove a dialogue scene in to recap everything that has happened.

A well-acted, but shapeless mess.

:D

Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo

2008-11-16T22:39:00.004Z

I am always amazed at the nature of words. Because in essence, all we are doing is combining 26 different symbols, and the end results are communication and emotion. Letters, that have no significance on their own, gain meaning when placed next to other letters.

Okay, now I sound like a simpleton, but really think about it. These very words you read on this page right now, they don't mean anything! They are squiggles, given definition by our schooling and our experiences in life.

Take, for a quick example, these two sentences: "I got wet running through the rain" and "I got soaked running through the rain". Both are saying the same thing, yet both contain different imagery. One word, with almost exactly the same meaning, makes it seem like it is raining heavier on our character.

And those random squiggles can change the world. America voted for the word 'change' (Okay, not solely, but it was damn important). The Harry Potter series affected childhoods all over the world.

Words have power. And...

Wait.

I started this whole thing to argue the case of swearwords. I was going to say that people need to lighten up on swearing because, when it all comes down to it, a word is only a word. It seems that instead I've been building the case for my opposition.

So, let me pretend that what is written above is one argument. Let it end at 'Words have power.'

And now let me argue the opposite. Starting...now!

Sure, I say words have power, but it is a fake power. Words are like the Wizard of Oz: all big and flashy on the outside, but the truth is that they are weedy old men (Who hates talking animals, for those who've read/seen Wicked) when the curtain is removed. It is our expectations that make a word, nothing in the word itself.

Take 'Fuck' for example. A word so foul that it has The Daily Express petitioning to remove it from our television screens. But all it is made up of is four symbols. That's it. Are you offended by Uckf, or Ckfu, or Kfuc, or Fkuc? Because they contain exactly the same letters. It's like being offended by pancakes, and not Yorkshire pudding!

The offence you feel is inside of you, or inside the sentence. It isn't in the word. You can say "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck" till the cows come home, the chickens roost, and other farmyard animals do what they do best, it will NOT be offensive. I would even argue, despite the fact that it plagiarises Stephen Fry a little, that fuck is one of the most curious words in the whole of the English language.

It has so many meanings, yet none that all. Alone, it means nothing. After "I want to...", it means 'to have sex' and before "...this", it means that you don't want to do 'this' anymore.

And we haven't even approached the ramifications of banning such words. Where do we stop? I know people who find the word 'moist' unnerving. Should we ban that? How many people need to find a word vulgar before we can't use it any more?

I'm taking back swear words. They aren't vulgar and they are not a sign of ignorance, nor a sign of a limited vocabulary. They are part of a rich selection of English words that can be used beautifully by anyone who gives a damn about what they are saying or writing.

Rise up with me brothers, and stick a big middle finger up to the world of prudes!

:P

http://lphybrid18.deviantart.com/art/Fuck-Shoes-42835024

Help a Virgin Out

2008-11-13T23:21:00.001Z

Exactly what it says on the tin.

Go here, and be counted!

:D

Quantum of Solace

2008-11-10T12:56:00.003Z

What's It All About?
Looking for revenge after Vesper's death, James Bond uncovers a secret evil organisation who are making dodgy deals with third-world governments and the like. But are his feelings getting in the way of his ability as a double-o? M certainly thinks so.

Pre-Thoughts
This was the follow-up to my favourite Bond film, and it promised more of everything. This was going to be twice as action-packed and twice as gritty. What more could you wish for?

Post-Thoughts
A real case of 'be careful what you wish for'. It is twice as action-packed, but to the point of action for action's sake. It is twice as gritty, but to a point where the lightness has been vacuumed out.

So the film is dark. Understandable, really. Bond is heartless and on a mission for revenge. He's allowed to be dark. The problem is that the film-makers haven't embraced this darkness. Perhaps to avoid comparisons to the Bourne franchise, glimmers of the old, quippy Bond can be seen.

Notable amongst these are the frequent trips back to M and her assistant and a second Bond girl played by Gemma Arterton. The first recalls every police chief in every 'cop on the edge' movie, cursing the heavens that they ever let such a maverick on the force. They even find time to include the requisite 'fired from the case' scene, just before he manages to solve the whole thing.

Gemma Arterton, as Agent Strawberry Fields, is a whole other level of cliché. The prissy, straight-laced, Fields has stepped right out of an older, camper Bond that I'm surprised her names wasn't more of a rude double entendre. And well all just know that Bond would bed her from the moment she uttered her first perfectly formed syllable.

Let us not blame Miss Arterton though. She plays the role with style and skill, and perhaps seven years ago she would have been welcome amongst Bond's ensemble. But in this age of no-frills Bond, she stands out like a three-piece suit at a nudist convention.

Thank the heavens then, for Olga Kurylenko as the feisty Camilla. Like Vesper before her, Camilla isn't just a girl for Bond to use and abuse. She is his equal, with a story and a personality to boot. It'd have been great to see more sparring and banter between the two of them, but the little that exists is sparky and well-written.

The film would have been amazing if not released when it was. Because it is when held up to Casino Royale that Quantum falls. The story feels more schizophrenic, thanks to the plot's tenancy to only stay in one country long enough for a chat and a fight. Casino Royale was leaner and held an arc.

And perhaps my biggest gripe is the lack of any low-point. Again, the comparisons to Casino Royale don't flatter. Bond fails in that film: he loses, he gets poisoned, he gets tortured, and he gets betrayed. Here, he hardly breaks a sweat. It robs the film of jeopardy and leaves it feeling rather flat.

But...

I feel bad leaving it at that, on a negative note. The film delivers, when the chips are down. Daniel Craig once again proves doubters wrong, and is well on his way to being the best Bond ever. The fights are kinetic and brutal. And it is still Bond done well.

And what more could you wish for?

A-Z of Film

2008-11-07T00:36:00.000Z

Another list. But then, I WAS challenged. And boy was this whole thing challenging.

It is currently early in the morning, so there are still links to put on this post. I'll do them later. If, however, you are reading this later, well, you won't be reading this bit. Does that make ANY sense?!

Anyway...

The Rules

1. Pick one film (your favorite film) to represent each letter of the alphabet.

2. The letter "A" and the word "The" do not count as the beginning of a film's title, unless the film is simply titled A or The, and I don't know of any films with those titles.

3. Return of the Jedi belongs under "R," not "S" as in Star Wars Episode IV: Return of the Jedi. This rule applies to all films in the original Star Wars trilogy; all that followed start with "S." Similarly, Raiders of the Lost Ark belongs under "R," not "I" as in Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark. In other words, movies are stuck with the titles their owners gave them at the time of their theatrical release. Conversely, all films in the LOTR series belong under "L" and all films in the Chronicles of Narnia series belong under "C," as that's what those filmmakers called their films from the start. Use your better judgement to apply the above rule to any series/films not mentioned.

4. Films that start with a number are filed under the first letter of their number's word. 12 Monkeys would be filed under "T."

5. Link back to Blog Cabins in your post so that I can eventually type "alphabet meme" into Google and come up #1, then make a post where I declare that I am the King of Google.

6. If you're selected, you have to then select 5 more people.

So here goes...

Almost Famous (Because the main character is like me)
Brick (Because he takes his shoes off!)
Casino Royale (Because this is how Bond should have always been done)
Death to Smoochy (Because Ed Norton hasn't played a better character)
Etre et Avoir (For the cute kids)
Finding Neverland (Because Johnny Depp. That is all.)
Good Will Hunting (Because Matt Damon and Ben Affleck can write! Who knew?)
Horton Hears a Who (Because I left the cinema with a smile)
In America (For heartbreaking little Irish girls)
Jesus Camp (Because it scared me)
Knocked Up (Because I forgot about Kiss Kiss Bang Bang)
Lord of the Rings: Two Towers (Because I couldn't vote for the whole trilogy)
Monsters Inc. (Because Boo is awesome!)
Notebook, The (Because they kiss in the rain)
Once upon a time in Mexico (For getting me into Robert Rodriguez)
Prestige, The (For being smarter than the average bear)
Quantum of Solace (Because I haven't seen any other films beginning with Q)
Romeo + Juliet (Because Shakespeare will never age)
Shaun of the Dead, Spirited Away, Spiderman 2, Serenity (Because all my favourite films begin with S)
Twelve Monkeys (Because the ending made it all make sense.)
Usual Suspects (For repeated viewings and amazing twists)
V for Vendetta (Because I can't think of any more films beginning with this letter)
Wall-E (Because of the robot love)
X-Men 2 (Because it was just like the comics)
You, Me and Dupree (Because *See V*)
Zoolander (Because *See Y*)

I'm meant to tag people in this, but I'm not really sure who reads this and who cares enough to do it themselves. If you do one of those two things, feel free to play. Let me know too.

Enjoy.

:D

51 Things To Do Before You Die

2008-11-06T00:07:00.000Z

If you wanted them to, books can tell you 1001 amazing places to travel to. They can give you a list of 1001 films to see before you die, or 1001 songs to listen to. They can suggest 1001 meals to try, and 1001 cocktails to sip. They can tell you the buildings to see, the paintings to admire, and tell you all the exciting things you would ever need to do in your life.

And your life would be hollow.

The market for these books are growing. Some kind of 'Carpe Diem' movement is sweeping the nation, and this faux-mid-life-crisis means that people want to read about where to swim with dolphins or which beer is best.

And yet, every one of these books is missing the point. Living life in the moment isn't about living big. It is about noticing the small things, and cherishing them. It is about finding the extra in the ordinary, and rooting it out.

I'm sure the 1001 suggestions may be entertaining, but nothing can beat laying in bed with a pretty girl, or drinking a pint with your friends.

So, in honour of being hypocritical, let me present 51 things to do before you die (because I don't have the time for 1001):

1. Stay up all night for no reason at all.
2. Give a stranger money for the fare home.
3. Kiss someone in the rain.
4. Buy the whole pub a round of drinks.
5. Down a pint.
6. Throw up after downing too many pints.
7. Invent your own sandwich.
8. Cry at a film.
9. Go a different way home.
10. Pee outdoors.
11. Dance in the street.
12. Get the wrong train.
13. Go on a journey just for the sake of it.
14. Play footsie with someone.
15. Stay in bed all day, without the excuse of being ill.
16. Tell someone your worst secret.
17. Break the speed limit.
18. Walk down the street with your eyes closed.
19. Win something.
20. Lose something, and be happy about it.
21. Ring a friend to say hi.
22. Break a bone.
23. Make a speech.
24. Read a book that changes your life.
25. Meet a hero of yours.
26. Kiss a stranger.
27. Trash a hotel room.
28. Share an in-joke.
29. Sing karaoke.
30. Text someone whilst drunk.
31. Pet an animal.
32. Find money on the floor.
33. Make drink go up your nose whilst laughing.
34. Eat spaghetti.
35. Cook a huge meal for friends.
36. Lose a phone.
37. Walk through a scary, dark place.
38. Go on a roller-coaster.
39. Go to the funfair.
40. Receive a postcard.
41. Walk into a lamppost.
42. Go on a plane.
43. Spoon.
44. Wear a suit or a lovely dress.
45. Ride in a limo.
46. Talk to someone for over twelve hours, without getting bored.
47. Swim a length underwater.
48. Get sunburned.
49. Play truth or dare.
50. Walk around naked.
~~51. Make a list of 51 things to do before you die.~~

:D

http://iici-ieii.deviantart.com/art/Carpe-diem-25681620

Don't Vote!

2008-10-23T22:50:00.001+01:00

Sex, Death and Imaginary Things

2008-10-22T23:13:00.001+01:00

I learnt something interesting about myself the other day.

It all began with a stroke to my ego. A friend of a friend needed a script and I was recommended by said-friend. It's always nice when something like this happens, that I've made an impression on someone well enough for them to recommend me to others. But that isn't part of the story.

I sent a script, all about a guy who can click his fingers and control anyone. He uses it to sleep with, and later abandon, lots of gorgeous women, until he falls in love with one of them.

She liked it, but it wasn't within their budget to make. Did I have anything else she could look at?

Well, I did. Sort of. My computer is filled with half finished, or rough first draft, scripts. I couldn't send her a completed script, but I listed the ideas I had that I'd be happy for someone else to make.

There's the story of a group of friends reuniting a year after their friend's death, and telling stories about what life was like when he was alive.

And one about a person writing a story in a costume shop, about a murder.

Another about a couple falling in love, and the girl being a muse.

And another about a boy meeting death at a party, and talking about love and sex with her.

And one about a girl about to die, who takes one last trip to live the life that she'll never have.

I had lots of half-written ideas, and I sent her the list via Facebook. Then I looked back at it.

There were patterns there. Some of these scripts were written years apart. The muse one was written four years ago! But themes were emerging.

There seems to be an obsession with imaginary things: muses, tooth fairies, stories.

Love and sex appear enough to create a pattern.

But almost every single script seems to play with the idea of death and dying. I think back to other scripts I have written, and they all seem to follow the same trend. Sex, death, imaginary things, or a combination of two or three. My scripts and my themes.

Also, the title of my autobiography.

:P

http://hapycow.deviantart.com/art/Playing-with-Death-57162711

Saturday Night's Alright For Television (NOT For Fighting!)

2008-10-14T23:29:00.003+01:00

I stand up (well, I'm sitting down) and say this (well, type this) without a tinge of embarrassment (well, maybe just a tinge): I like cheesy Saturday night television.

Stuff like X-Factor and Strictly Come Dancing. Sure, they're cheesy and filled with enough ego to inflate several hot-air balloons, but they are fun. You pick someone. You cheer them on. The fact that it is just the same programme as last year is forgotten.

Anyhow, here is my "team"; the two people that I'm rooting for on Saturday nights.

:D

Points for Smiling (Or 'Why the Queen Shouldn't Have a Goatee')

2008-10-13T11:46:00.002+01:00

"Last week's takings were just over last week's budget."

This was good, I thought, without much knowledge of what it really meant.

"This is good.' My new boss said 'but we need to work harder today. The budget is low today, but it looks miserable outside."

It did, I thought. She was right. Do people not read in the rain?

"We've also had another fake twenty-pound note accepted. You look at it, and it's really obvious to see. The paper feels thicker. The ink has smudges. And the face of the queen watermark, it's so bad that it looks like the queen has a goatee. The queen has a goatee guys! We have to be more careful!"

I would try, damn it! I hadn't been at all careful, since I hadn't been taking twenty-pound notes, so it wouldn't be hard to be more careful than that.

I certainly wouldn't allow any bearded ladies on my shift.

"And lastly, I'd just like to introduce everyone to Chris, the new guy. I really should have said that first, shouldn't I?"

And with that, the room of people turned to wave and tell me their names. There was blonde girl, and what's-her-face, and that guy and...

...yeah, I wasn't too good at remembering names. I remember there was an Alice and two Daves, but the rest are just nameless faces to me.

My new working life had begun.

* * *

Dave turned to me. At least, I think his name was Dave. I tried extra hard to not say his name, just in case.

"I think you'll be fine trying this on your own now."

I'd been watching him work the till for the last fifteen minutes. He'd talked fast, and pressed buttons faster.

But the next customer looked easy enough. She was a small weedy woman, shrunk into herself. I could help her with whatever she wanted. I WOULD help her!

"Hi. How may I help you?"

"Do you have any books on domestic abuse? Because my husband commits domestic abuse and I want to understand him."

You can't make this up.

I froze. I ummed and ahhed until Dave strode right in and took the reigns from me. He was confident and smiley and he ordered her the book that she was after.

I just watched and thought about slipping her the phone number of a charity or something. Was she serious? She said it with such straight-forwardness, that I was looking for a hidden camera or something.

My first customer, and I'd failed her.

* * *

"Do you have one of our points cards?" I said with all the smiles a question like that deserves.
"Um...no?" the customer said, with the unnecessary question mark included.

Earlier, this would have been the end. I would have run the total and asked for the money and sent them on their merry way. Not this time. Not on my watch!

"Would you like one?"

They thought for a moment. They looked at me. I smiled a 'You should really get a points card' smile.

"Sure. Yeah. Why not?"

Success!

I had convinced a customer to trust us enough to accept a piece of plastic. That meant they were more likely to shop here again, which earns the company more money which means I was finally doing my job well.

The customer looked at me quizzically whilst I thought this. Then: "So, um, what do I need to do?"

Ah.

"Dave? How do I give a customer a points card?"

So, maybe there are still things I need to learn.

:P

http://krecha.deviantart.com/art/BOOK-SHOP-63585746

Presidential Candidates

2008-10-11T00:01:00.004+01:00

So let us talk about politics.

I'm from the UK, but I'm not interested in the political issues over here. It is all boring people, in old rooms, talking in unexciting ways about stuff I don't care about. It's small and sneaky.

American politics, on the other hand, is a BIG event! It's rallies and picking sides; it's slander and image; it's grander, and more entertaining, than anything we can hope for.

Also, a very important election will be taking place and whilst I can't vote in it, I'd like to throw my hat into the opinion ring.

Vote Obama!

I'm going to make several points in the coming paragraphs, but it all comes down to that simple statement.

Vote Obama!

Seriously, you should say that sentence after each point, just to reinforce the theme.

Vote Obama!

That will be the last time I say that.

The current situation, as I see it, is this. One side is all about hope. They are preaching a better future, retreating out of Iraq, and freedom of choice in regard to sex, love androck'n'roll.

The second side is running on a campaign of staying the same, clamping down on that pesky sex education that's getting taught in schools nowadays, and dirtying the name of the opposite side.

McCain has called Obama 'elitist' on several occasions, in a derogatory fashion. That's right, the rich white guy, with several houses, is calling the other side 'elitist'.

What he really means is that Obama is too smart for his own good. 'Elite', in this case, means that Obama thinks he is better than the common man. Good! I want someone smarter than me running a country. I don't want someone who is an every-man, because it is the every-man that went to see Mamma Mia more than The Dark Knight over here. The every-man are idiots!

I want someone in office that knows big words and isn't afraid to use them. I want someone who isn't afraid to look smart because they might alienate stupid people.

Another criticism against Obama, one which can be seen advertised here, complains that he wants to teach sex education to kindergarten children. Which, in a very skewed way, is true. It is true that Obama signed a bill that decreed that children from kindergarten upwards would be taught, and this bit is very important, "age-appropriate" sex education.

We're not talking the whole condom-on-cucumber, or the videos of naked people with arrows pointing at bits. Not yet anyway. We're talking about introducing young children to the idea of sex and sexuality.

But even if that wasn't the case, what is the problem with small children learning about sex? How would it possibly affect them? Do the Republicans think that suddenly there will be an outbreak of children sleeping together?

The reality of it is that children will dismiss the whole thing as "yucky" and stick with the belief that all girls have cooties. Hell, I STILL believe this!

By introducing children to sex early, you give the (correct) impression that sex is a natural part of life. It is what humans are born to do, and drives many decisions in life. Also, it's fun! Plain and simple.

Without going off on too much of a tangent, the American sex education system fails when teaching abstinence only. It is outdated to teach children that not having sex is the only option. It doesn't stop them doing it, and just leaves them open to unplanned pregnancies and deceases out of ignorant practises.

So, even if the bill really meant Obama wanted to teach kidergarten kids all about sex, this extreme is much better than the alternative.

And maybe that is what this election is about: Obama is better than the alternative.

Because let me have a moment of honesty here: Obama isn't perfect. He could be described as a balloon: really good at lifting people up, but ultimately full of hot air. And he's very young for the job.

But the alternative is someone who would choose to keep America the same. Someone who would choose to keep fighting a war that was lost as soon as we entered it. And someone who is so old, chances are high that he wouldn't even reach the end of his first term.

And if and when McCain croaks it, who do we have to take over? A hockey-mum stunt casting who is pro-hunting, anti-abortion and believes the world was created by design and that the earth is only 6,000 years old.

Let me get the latter out of the way first. Whilst a lot of humour can be garnered from the way she believes was made, it doesn't serve as much of an arguement. So, sure, let her keep her idiotic views that go against centuries of scientific evidence. Just don't let those opinions make it to the White House.

And certainly don't demand that schools teach it as a proper alternative to Evolution. As a myth, maybe, but don't dumb down the next generation because a group of people don't understand the difference between fact and a good story.

Anyway, that was off-topic.

Palin, McCain's running mate, has also spoken out about abortion. She believes that even if the baby is the sprog of someone who raped the girl, she still doesn't have the right to have it aborted.

Rubbish!

Look, have that opinion if you like. Believe that feotus are tiny pieces of God and that they shouldn't be harmed. But DON'T make it illegal for the whole country to disagree with you.

In the current system, you are free to choose. You think abortion is murder, you are free to not do it and free to teach your kids the same. You disagree, than go down to your local abortion clinic and deal with it that way.

Making it illegal to make that second choice is taking away the freedom to choose. Am I the only one that thinks this would be a HUGE step backwards for any country?

And don't get me started on the hypocricy of being pro life and hunting. I take it that God loves unborn children more than he loves moose?

Sarah Palin is a terrible choice for vice-president. She was a knee-jerk reaction to Obama not picking Clinton. McCain's team must have believed that by simply choosing a woman, they would win over the votes that Obama lost by not doing so.

This just sums up his campaign. Don't offer discussion about the important issues, just knock the other guy. Hell, why not call him out as Muslim? His middle name is Hussain, and we know how much the American public hate that name.

It is infantile, and certainly not the way you want the leader of a country to act. Obama may be floating by on speeches about hope and a new America, but at least he's offering more than insults to the other party.

Come November, the choice seems easy. A man of hope and opportunity, or a man of old-fashioned values? The change America needs, or the same problems for another five years?

Vote Obama in 2008! (Yeah, I lied when I said I wouldn't mention it again.)

:D

http://brothervirgil.deviantart.com/art/McCain-Magic-Card-78831592
http://brothervirgil.deviantart.com/art/Obama-Magic-Card-78831704

Word of the Week...

2008-10-09T01:09:00.000+01:00

Concur

–verb (used without object), -curred, -cur·ring.

1.	to accord in opinion; agree: Do you concur with his statement?

2.	to cooperate; work together; combine; be associated: Members of both parties concurred.

3.	to coincide; occur at the same time: His graduation concurred with his birthday.

4.	Obsolete. to run or come together; converge.

Dumb-day Tuesday

2008-10-08T23:29:00.000+01:00

I'm not a grade-A student. I don't know pi past 3 decimal places, or know the capital of Kazakhstan, or know the chemical equation to turn lead into gold. Any achievement I manage in my time here on earth will not be the result of a shining, academic intellect.

I'm not an idiot either, despite what some "witty" comments might say if they weren't put off by this very message. I know where to put a semi-colon in a sentence; and I know how to add, divide, subtract and multiply; and I know never to trust a drunk man with a sandwich whilst you take a toilet break.

I'm good at the inane facts. For example, I can tell you that a cat will survive being dropped from any floor above the seventh. I can quote a Shakespearean monologue. Also, I can name all of the colours in Joseph's technicolour coat. This is useless knowledge.

Which, you would think, would tide me well in a pub quiz type scenario. You'd be wrong.

Every week, a couple of friends and I take part in the pub quiz at our local. It involves questions on celebrities and music and film and general knowledge. Our average position: second to last.

Sure, we're about forty years younger than the rest of the competitors, which puts us at a disadvantage when asked the number 2 hit in the summer of '69.

But every time we lose, I die a little inside. I should be smarter than this. I should know the five countries with a population greater than China!

Yet, I do nothing about this. I don't revise and I just head back in for the humiliating defeat.

But never again. I've read wikipedia, you see. And I'm watching the news and listening out for new songs by bands I haven't heard of.

Soon, victory shall be mine!

Mwhahaha!

:D

http://heile.deviantart.com/art/thirst-for-knowledge-78556782

How To Lose Friends And Alienate People

2008-10-07T23:58:00.003+01:00

What’s It About?
Simon Pegg, a nasty English writer, gets a job at a high-end celebrity magazine. His dreams include writing biting articles, dating supermodels and getting access to the fancy parties.

The reality is that none of his articles are accepted, due to celebrity pandering; he scares or insults all the women he comes into contact with; and he gets access to the fancy parties. Well, at least he got that bit right.

My Thoughts Going In…
I had a vague knowledge of this a while back, and thought it seemed like a good idea. Also, Simon Pegg tends to be a sign of quality.

However, the trailer made me think twice. It was filled with lame slapstick, including a whole set-piece which may just be the oldest joke in the comedy film book: the bumbling protagonist accidentally killing someone important's pet. Oh dear.

But with Death Race and Taken vetoed by Emma*, this was the only vaguely tolerable choice left.

Looks Like…
The visuals were adequate but didn't push any boundaries. This is a comedy, so it just looks okay.

There was also a vague feeling that I've seen all the locations before. The office looked like a magazine office from any other film. The bar looked like the same bars we've seen time and again. The garden party was a cliché: a way to make everything look grander.

Sounds Like…
The music was good here, with some classics and rather likeable covers. There is often a case that the film seems like a commercial for the soundtrack, but not here. Instead, it duetted nicely with the story.

Feels Like…
The trailer didn't do this film justice in the slightest.

What I watched wasn't a lame 'seen-it-before', slapstick comedy about a Brit overseas. It was a touching, charming film about sticking to your values.

So, in turn, the film didn't do the book any justice.

The original book of How to Lose Friends and Alienate People was a memoir about life at a gossip magazine. That much the film got. But the book's author, the star, is a nasty piece of work. He's insulting, vain and prone to put his foot in his mouth.

Simon Pegg, on the other hand, is rude, but in a charming, Mr Bean way. He is vain, but he's really sticking up for real values. Any time his foot enters his mouth vicinity, it is only out of good intentions.

I haven't read the book, so have no idea how it ends. However, I'm willing to bet my bank balance that it didn't end in the neat Hollywood way that the film does.

However, it is a fool's game to compare book to film. They have to make differences. What the film lost was its bite. What it gained was heart.

Simon Pegg plays the main role perfectly. He remains blunt, but likeable. He reveals his vulnerability slowly too, so we feel for him when he falls. Oh, and he falls big.

Jeff Bridges brings presence, Kirsten Dunst brings a down-to-earth charm, and Megan Fox brings her breasts. The cast are all on top of their game, seeming to have fun with the film.

For a film revolving around celebrities, there were no cameos, which was nice. It could have quite easily nodded and winked itself to comedy death with too much self-referencial humour.

The script contains a good number of one-liners worth adding to your favourite quotes on Facebook, and when the film veers into predictable territory, the writer keeps it seeming fresh and fun.

But, it isn't perfect. There are no good belly-laughs, instead it is happy to keep a healthy chuckle. You can see the story's path from the first step. And there wasn't enough Jeff Bridges.

It just falls short of having punch, a real feeling that you can take with you and treasure and play with and discuss. It'll be forgotten tomorrow. But, whilst it lasts, it'll keep you smiling.

Verdict…
A fun effort, with a bouncy script and an on-form cast. Not going to set the world alight, but worth a trip to the cinema for.

*She actually said "I don't mind, you decide". Of course, any sensible person will see through this clever ruse and realise that it really means "You choose, but if I don't enjoy it then expect me to be grumpy with you and possibly withdraw 'nudity privilages' for a month".

A Long and Complicated Story of Parties, Kisses and Misunderstandings: Part Three

2008-10-06T23:42:00.001+01:00

Ok, so where was I?

There was almost kisses, then there were drunken kisses, and then there was the first sober kiss.

It happened after the Enchanted evening, the next morning. Faye had left for work in the early hours (9.30am) and Emma and I were left on the sofa. So, we did what all young people of opposite sex do when they were kissing the night before and now find themselves sat on a sofa: We kissed more.

That day, I had arranged to cook steak for Emma, a non-steak lover. It meant that we had more time to kiss, and that they became steak-flavoured at some point. We also shared our first chocolate kiss, after a fairly successful attempt at soufflé.

Anyway, despite the fun that was had that day, it left me a little confused. Did the sober kisses mean she was liking me more, or was it just a bit of fun? The answer was the second, but I didn't find this out till later.

First, there was Emma's birthday.

During the day, we went to see Horton Hears a Who and to all casual observers (which include me) nothing had ever gone on between us the day before. I looked for it too, as a potential ease of the confusion mentioned before.

But nope. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero. We watched a (admittedly good) film and went on our merry way to the pub.

It was there, after a drink, that anything began again. It started with a foot under the table, just interlocking with mine. Ever the cautious type, I made sure that I pulled away enough to see that it wasn't an accident. If she move her foot back to mine, I figured, she wanted it there.

She moved her foot back.

We ate and drank and we were merry, all the while playing a very cosy game of footsy under the table.

Towards the end, I took a trip to the little boy's room and upon my return I found that a good percentage of my drink had disappeared. A guilty grin put the blame on Emma. Also, Faye was driving so unlikely to drink cider.

That part would have been edited out but for the fact that it illuminates the conversation that then took place in the car on the journey home.

"I can't believe you drank my cider. That was my cider and I was treasuring it. I had JUST enough to get me till kicking out time and you drank it. You even had your own!"

This was me, sat in the back of the car and moaning. Because I'm a boy, the subtext here was "I can't believe you drank my cider?!"

"I think I've got some drink in my house. You can have some of that."

This was Emma, seemingly offering me some alcoholic drink at her house. But because she is a girl, this meant "You can always come back to mine for some drink...and more kisses!"

But I couldn't, could I. For one, the cautious me wasn't sure whether he was picking up the subtext correctly. It'd just be awkward if the whole thing was said as a joke, and I thought otherwise.

And even if it was a genuine subtextual offer, there was still the matter of Faye. It wasn't like we were deliberately hiding it from her, but telling her that we'd shared a few nights of drunken kisses when we were both quite tipsy certainly wasn't the way I wanted her to find out.

(She actually ended up finding out accidentally, via a lighting mistake on a beach in Poole. This also wasn't the ideal situation either, but at least our intentions were noble.)

So anyway, I laughed it off and that was the end of that. I was gutted of course. I was heading back up to Leeds the next day, and my last chance to spend time with Emma was spent giving her a hug and wishing to do much more than that.

When I got home, she was online.

"I'm sorry I didn't accept your offer for drinks", I typed.

I went on to explain why I couldn't, and she understood. The conversation eventually led to this point. (All sentences have been cleared up from the drunken MSN speak that they originally existed in)

Me: I'm gutted though.
Emma: What do you mean?
Me: Well, every time I go back up to Leeds, you end up confusing me.
Me: At New Years, you almost kissed me after Andy's party.
Me: You kissed me before I went back to Leeds for a week.
Me: But this time, nothing is going to happen.

The next bit, I SWEAR, is what she said.

Emma: You could always walk round mine and I'll confuse you again.

How could I refuse?! After checking that she wasn't kidding, and that she wouldn't fall asleep, I put my shoes back on and I headed round to hers.

It's a 30 minute walk to Emma's house. I did it in just over 15.

In her defence, she actually had drinks made up as she had promised before. So instead of my romantic notions of grabbing her as soon as she opened the door, we sat on her sofa and drank rather strong vodka and coke.

Then we kissed. Then we moved it up to her bedroom. Then, for the first time, I saw Emma naked (with the lights turned off). And now I was definitely confused.

I stayed at hers the whole night, which required staying very quite when her mum was getting ready for work, and left around midday. I travelled back to Leeds and we didn't speak about the events until a few days later.

I asked her where we stood. Did the sober kissing mean that she liked me more? It was here that I found out that no, it didn't, and that she just wanted to be friends. And I got annoyed.

Friends don't kiss each other! Friends don't invite each other for late night "drinks"!

I explained a day later, after examining why I got so annoyed at the whole thing, that she didn't mean "just friends". She still wanted to kiss me (heaven knows why) and didn't regret what had happened in the past. This wasn't "just friends". This was "friends with benefits".

I could do that.

We spoke regularly for the next few months we both had left of uni. The first day we saw each other again was a gorgeous sunny day. We cycled and we ate a picnic. We laid in the grass and discussed clouds.

And all I wanted to do was kiss her. I did, eventually. We were back in the same place we had been back at Easter.

We met more and kissed more. It was all very secretive because we weren't sure what it was so we had no idea how to describe it to anyone.

Then we went on holiday in Poole. We were caught kissing, which was both a rubbish way for friends to find out, but also a huge relief. We could cuddle in public. We weren't hiding anything.

Poole was the first time I ever felt like a couple with Emma.

I got the feeling more and more over the coming weeks. We made a make-shift bed on her living room floor (because her single bed is rubbish). We ate lunch and laid in the park. We were doing all the couple stuff, but without the recognition.

But how could I ask Emma whether things had changed? She'd say no, that this was all fun, and I wouldn't know what to say. Yeah, I'm a wimp. I even started asking the question once, but changed my question halfway in.

But, you know what? Despite the confusion and misadventure of the above story, the whole thing ends simply (some may say anti-climatically).

The final scene takes place in my bedroom. We were cuddling, and talking about life. This whole story came up, and we spoke about the weirdness of it all. Just eight months ago, we'd hardly spoken to each other. Now, we were lying in the same bed, sans clothes.

And I asked the question: "Why aren't we boyfriend and girlfriend?"

Beat.

"That's the boy's job."
"What? To ask if you want to be boyfriend and girlfriend?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. Do you want to be boyfriend and girlfriend?"
"Yeah."

And that was how it ended, a casual conversation in a bed, eight months after we first almost kissed.

:D

P.S. - A rather freaky epilogue to this whole affair is this story. For my birthday, Emma bought me a copy of Cosmopolitan as a joke, since I had stated that I enjoyed reading it. In the horoscope section, it said this under Aries:

A friend who confuses you will set a chain of events in motion that will lead to a relationship by August.

This was in the April edition of the magazine, the same month Emma first kissed me. I have stated on several occasions how much she confused me. And the whole thing became a real relationship in August.

Creepy, no?

A Long and Complicated Story of Parties, Kisses and Misunderstandings: Part Two

2008-10-03T00:46:00.003+01:00

I first kissed Emma on my sofa, whilst we were both suitably intoxicated. I remember the kiss perfectly, but have no memory of the events leading up to the kiss. I don't think we said anything and that it just sort of happened.

But before I go on to regale you with the events that led from that kiss, we must first go back, to events before it. Back, in fact, to my 21st Birthday Party.

Joe (a name that will only be mentioned this once, since he has no impact on this story), Faye, Emma and I shared a party around the time we were all turning 21. It was mask, wig, and hat themed and good times were had by all. I was over Emma, for the most part, and I barely remember seeing her at the party.

Now, remember when I mentioned Megan and our habit of hooking up whilst drunk? Well, Megan and I hooked up whilst drunk at that party, very much in secret.

About a week later, I've arranged to cook a meal for a bunch of us. Faye and Nixon are there, as is Emma. I cook gammon and we drink wine. We also drink cider and sambuka, so end the meal fairly drunk. And then we decided to go to the pub.

This was the night that I was flirty with Emma again (apparently) which caused her ex, Nixon, to ask if I fancied her, to which I replied "No" because I didn't. That train had passed.

After our pub antics, I was planning on walking Emma home. We both live in a neighbouring town from everybody else. Most of the time someone drives back, but on special occasions it has been known for the two of us to risk the hour walk. Despite my house being closer, I walk Emma to her door because I am a nice boy.

Anyway, we walk and we talk. I don't know what we talk about, for it is lost in drunken mists. But we arrive at my house and stop for a toilet break because, as I've just mentioned, it's closer.

And then we're on my sofa. We don't talk, we just end up kissing. And now we're back at the beginning.

We kiss for about half an hour before we think that it's a good idea to get Emma back to her real home. We kiss more at hers. She even invites me to her bedroom, which tells you all the type of girl Emma really is (The type who got bored of kissing for hours on the sofa).

The whole night ends at seven in the morning, when fear of a mother awakening means that I leave. I stumble home, a stupid smile on my face.

Anyway, the next day I'm back at University. I'd promised Faye and Emma that I'd be back down to celebrate their birthdays though, so my trip is only a week long. During that week, we discuss the kissing online. It is concluded that the whole thing was fun and drunken and not an indicator of secret feelings for each other. Of course, I was sort of lying about the last bit, but she didn't have to know that.

The week ends, and the first port of call when travelling back home is to visit Megan in Portsmouth. I forget the reason, but the plan is to drink and dance the night away.

I'd be lying if I said that I didn't expect to kiss Emma again that night. That became fairly inevitable when she hooked arms with me and dragged me to a cash point. What I CAN say is that at the beginning of the night I had no idea anything else would happen. To me, we'd had a drunken fling and it was over.

But kiss we did, in the middle of the dance floor. Once again, I don't know how it all began. I know that alcohol was involved somewhere down the line, and that we had our hands in each other's back pockets. That is all.

The kissing resumed back at Megan's when we both had a bed made up on the floor, whilst Megan slept and Megan's friend didn't. I feel we still need to apologise to her.

Again, the kissing went on till the early, early hours, but this time we had to face each other the next day. We didn't say much, especially regarding the previous night, but it didn't seem awkward. At least, I didn't THINK it did.

You see, once back at home, I checked facebook to find that Emma had changed her status to 'Emma doesn't know what to think'. "About what?", I thought. Was last night weird for her? Did I do something wrong? Overstep my boundries? A brief MSN conversation did nothing to ease my worries when I was told that we would "talk about it later".

But before later, there was the pub. You see, Nixon was back off to Uni that day, so we were all gathering for his leaving do. I was tired so I don't remember much of the night, except for one thing. Emma completely blanked me.

She was nice to everyone else, to Nixon and to Faye, but she didn't even give me a second glance. I spent the night playing all the reason she could be mad in my head. None of them made sense. How could she be mad now, and not that morning?

When I was home once again, I logged on to get the explanation I was promised. It wasn't to do with the night before at all (So I completely failed when she asked what I thought it was about) but was in regards to post-birthday party kisses with Megan.

For you see, Megan had decided that it wasn't fair that Emma didn't know that stuff had happened between us, so she had told her all. Now I was painted as a serial-kisser, someone who just gets with drunk girls and moves on to their friends.

Except I wasn't. And I explained this is great, drunken detail. I remember bringing up the fact that I didn't kiss Emma earlier in the year out of chivalry. I hadn't changed. I was still that nice boy.

We ended the night on vaguely good terms, but to me it was over. Sure, we'd be friends again, but we were never going to share another kiss. That required trust and I figured that the trust was gone.

It wasn't.

A few days later, Faye, Emma and I were returning from a failed night of clubbing. The place we had been planning on attending was closed, so we returned home for a night of Enchanted instead.

About twenty minutes in, Faye falls asleep. The three of us are under quilts and the two girls were dressed in pajamas. I usually sleep in boxers, so to dress like that would have been inappropriate.

And under this quilt, next to a sleeping Faye (Sorry Faye, but it gets worse) we held hands. Then we played with our hands, tickling palms and the like. This wasn't the biggest action ever, but it meant that there was still trust there.

When the film had finished, we all retired to a spare room to sleep. Faye slept. Me and Emma, not so much. Wrapped in quilts and staying quiet, we kissed until the sun rose.

Now, I want to take this moment to point out a very important fact. Every time kissing had taken place so far in the story, alcohol had been involved. The first night we kissed, cider and wine and shots were coursing through our system. More cider was involved in Portsmouth. Even on our failed clubbing exhibition, we were still tipsy.

I knew where I stood in this regard. Emma wasn't kissing me because she truly liked me that way. She was kissing me out of drunkenness and fun.

But that morning, after Faye left for work, Emma kissed me for the first time sober. And suddenly things were a lot more confusing.

To be continued...

:D

Word of the Week...

2008-10-02T01:55:00.000+01:00

Chump

–noun

1.	Informal. a stupid person; dolt: Don't be a chump—she's kidding you along.

2.	a short, thick piece of wood.

3.	the thick, blunt end of anything.

4.	Slang. the head.

—Idiom

5.	off one's chump, British Slang. crazy.

A Long and Complicated Story of Parties, Kisses and Misunderstandings: Part One

2008-10-01T16:26:00.003+01:00

This is the story of how I changed my facebook status to "In a relationship with Emma Sansom".

To begin this tale of confusion and secret kisses, I must go right back to the beginning. Not 'of time', but just eleven years ago to the winter of 1997. I was ten. So was Emma. We met, we became boyfriend and girlfriend, we broke up.

I'd love to tell you more, but there is a distinct lack of tales in the few months we were together. Being a couple in those days meant holding hands and dancing slow at the end of discos.

Anyway. We ended up going to the same secondary school, but managed to avoid each other through most of the five years we were there. We even sat together in Maths, and only shared words when I had forgotten my textbook and she was offering hers.

It wasn't like we didn't like each other (Well, it wasn't like I didn't like her), but we hung out with different groups which never intersected.

It wasn't until Sixth Form that we began to nurture a friendship again. There wasn't a big event to signify it. We just started talking again.

We all went away to uni and Emma was one of the few people I kept in touch with when I was home for the summer. That group got smaller over the years, but Emma was never cut. The definition of a friend, if ever I heard one.

But throughout this whole period of re-friendship, there was never really a spark. I knew her, sure, but didn't really know her. I didn't know her favourite colour, or what she liked to listen to. I hadn't even been inside her house. And we certainly had never flirted before.

Until...

New Year 2008 (Where the picture above was taken). We were both at Faye's party, something her family holds every year. In our age-range, it was just Faye, Emma and I for most of the night. Fun was had and alcohol was drunk.

And something was different between me and Emma. We sat and discussed our favourite colours, music, films, etc. We flirted. I don't flirt with people. I'm rubbish at it. But I found myself doing it at this party.

To this day, I don't know the reason. Most of me blames alcohol and part of me thinks it has something to do with me being the only age-appropriate male there. I don't think I'll ever know.

The whole flirting thing culminated in us sat in the same chair. We had been fighting over a party horn, and she had pulled me down onto her. She had taken the horn from my mouth and blown it. I had taken it from her. Then we had a moment.

Those times when you know that you're going to kiss someone. It was one of them. It had just seemed right.

I didn't kiss her.

It may sound like a film cliché, but as we moved to kiss, the door went. We got up and answered it. That was that. The moment was forgotten.

On another day, we discussed the events. Well, after I had reminded her of the events we discussed them. It was the alcohol and it was fun. That was it. End of story.

Except it wasn't the end of the story, it was only the beginning.

The next part comes at another party (You'll find that most of the parts of this story contain alcohol). It was a friend's twenty-first, and many, many people were there. The party itself was fun, despite the lack of drinking.

You see, I was poor at the time, so my only drinks that night were the ones I could beg and borrow from my wonderful, wonderful friends. So I was tipsy, but nowhere near as drunk as I should have been.

I didn't really interact with Emma all that much during the party. We spoke a little. She may have bought me a drink. But for the most part, we hung out with different people.

Which leaves me time to introduce someone else to this story now. Her name is Megan. We used to have a habit of drunkenly kissing at parties. She becomes very important later, but for this party she spent most of the time telling me how she wasn't going to try and kiss me (she did).

Oh, she has a proper boyfriend now, so things work out in the end.

So, the party ends and we make our exit. To my surprise, I'm set upon by two girls. Megan, going quickly back on her drunken promises, takes one hand. Emma, who I haven't seen for a while, takes the other hand.

I'm not the type of boy who usually has one girl, let alone two. I don't really know how to cope. I call "Shotgun!".

Yes, that's right. Instead of sitting between two girls who are drunkenly wanting to cosy up to me, I sit in the front of the car. Yes, I'm an idiot.

Anyhow, we are dropping both Megan and Emma off first. Megan is staying at Emma's, but she wants cheesy chips so we drop them off at a kebab stand near Emma's house. She later goes on to throw those chips up, but that isn't important to the story except to point out how drunk a girl has to be to want to hold my hand.

We get out the car to bid them goodbye. I hug Megan and when she tries to kiss me I remind her of her promise a few hours earlier.

Then, when I'm saying goodbye to Emma, she gives me a kiss on the lips. Just a friendly kiss, mind, but a kiss none-the-less.

Then it wasn't a friendly kiss anymore. It was proper kiss, with tongues and everything. It didn't last long.

I didn't kiss her back.

Now, I've told this story to a few people and this part seems to have the most polar reactions. Some see where I was coming from. This was a drunk girl, and I was bordering on sober. It would've been taking advantage. I didn't want to kiss her like that.

Most people hearing the stories think I'm an idiot. Sure, she was drunk, but she was pretty! What if I never got to kiss her again? I'd have wasted my one chance out of misguided chivilary.

And this is what I was thinking when I arrived home that night. I was an idiot. I should have kissed her. Damn!

But life goes on. The next day I'm heading back to uni, and as I'm packing I recieve a text. I forget the exact words but it said something like "Sorry for making a fool of myself last night."

We kept texting each other as I finished packing, then as I boarded my train. It was a long journey, and Emma became my entertainment.

I discovered that my act of kindness the night before had be misconstrued. She was embaressed because she thought I didn't want to kiss her. This wasn't the case, I told her. I was just trying to be a nice boy and not take advantage.

She did tell me that it isn't taking advantage if a drunk girl wants to kiss you, so I'm bearing that in mind in future.

Anyway, we kept texting when I arrived in Leeds, and through the evening. At midnight, I ran out of free texts, but our conversation continued online. In total, we spoke for 14 hours that day.

For the next month, this became the norm. We spoke everyday, about anything and everything. We passed through the important stuff, like life, love, death and secrets, but also discussed words that we liked, and gossip we had heard. There are so many things that we talked about that I have forgotten now.

And I looked forward to our daily conversations. And, little by little, I developed a crush.

Now, during the course of our talks, I had arranged to come and visit her in Southampton. It was a friendly thing, but in my mind it was more than that. The trip would be where I could find out if she liked me too. In hindsight, perhaps building it up so much was a bad idea.

The full details can be found on a separate post, but let me just say that it didn't go all that well.

In fact, she got drunk and kissed another boy. On a scale of things that you want the girl you have a crush on to do, this is pretty near the bottom.

Speaking about it with her at a later date, I found out that she knew I fancied her and was going to try and gently dissuade me. Then she got drunk and went WAY too far.

But, such is life. You move on, because not moving on is foolish. I did, eventually.

In fact, the day I definitely knew that I was over her was when we were amongst friends at the pub. My friend, and her ex, had noticed that we were being flirty and had asked if I fancied her. It didn't matter if I did, he said.

And I thought about it. And, truthfully, I told him I didn't. My crush was over and I could move on and find other girls. We were still friends, and I guess that was all we were going to be.

That night, I kissed Emma for the first time.

To be continued...

:D

Alphabet Soup

2008-09-29T01:48:00.000+01:00

A. Attached or Single? Attached, which I still haven't got used to. I haven't had a girlfriend since I was fourteen, so I'm not sure what to do with them. I've just been brushing her hair and making sure I smell nice, because that seems to work.
B. Best Friend? I have no one best friend.There are people I like to talk to about different things at different times. It's like picking a favourite film or song, it just depends on my mood. And theirs.
C. Cake or pie? Pie. It's a better word (just) and there are so many options: steak and kidney, fruit, mince, etc, etc. I think it is my second favourite foodstuff; sandwiches are clearly the best. D. Day of choice? I have a thing for Thursdays. Don't know why. Perhaps it's because I usually go to the cinema then.
E. Essential item? Pants. It's the only thing you need beyond food.
F. Favourite colour? Yellow. It's bright and sunny; a very uplifting colour.
G. Gummy bears or worms? Bears. Gummy Worms bring up too many horrible childhood memories.
H. Hometown? Leeds technically, but Bracknell unofficially.
I. Favourite indulgence? Duck a'la Orange with potato rosti. Phish Food Ice Cream for dessert.
J. January or July? July. Warmer and lighter.
K. Kids? Now? At 21?! I think I'll wait a bit longer. I plan on being a father (and a damn good one, I might add) at some point, but that is a long way off. I can hardly take care of myself!
L. Life isn’t complete without? Late-night conversations, late-afternoon lie-ins and parties that end in the early morning.
M. Marriage date? I point you pack to my answer to 'K'. I'm way too young to be thinking such things. But I must once again point out I'd have an awesome wedding and be a damn good husband.
N. Number of brothers and sisters? A younger brother and a younger sister. Also, to make things complicated; an older step-brother and a younger step-sister on one side, and another younger step-sister on the other side.
O. Oranges or Apples? Apples, for ease of use.
P. Phobias? I don't know when it all began, but in the past few years I have found myself fearing pigeons flying into me when I walk past them. Strange, I know, but they fly upwards quickly!
Q. Quotes? Anything I type hear will not be as funny as it is in the original context. For that, watch West Wing or How I Met Your Mother.
R. Reasons to smile? Because. Just because. Does there have to be a reason to smile?
S. Season of choice? Summer. BBQs, warm evenings and sunshine are my idea of heaven.
T. Tag 5 people: Tag! You're it! Four more to go.
U. Unknown fact about me? In my life I have collected stamps, bird-watched and read comics, and yet I can still survive in a non-geek world. It's like magic!
V. Vegetable? I'm not a vegetable person. It's peas and carrots. That is all.
W. Worst habit? Procrastination. I know I should do something, but decide that the indulgent thing I'm currently doing is more important. Has led to many a late deadline.
X. X-ray or Ultrasound? Ultrasound. It's safer and might mean I was the first pregnant man. (Where would it come out?!)
Y. Your favourite food? Sandwiches
Z. Zodiac sign? Aries, but on the cusp. I fall between the two personalities.

:D

http://abbarich.deviantart.com/art/The-Alphabet-8743507

Plans

2008-09-26T23:07:00.000+01:00

As this post comes online, the following events should have happened.

Emma should have closed her eyes before stepping into my house. She should have then opened her eyes again to see a cuddly elephant toy next to two wine glasses.

She'll love it of course, because it is cute and it is an elephant. She will then proceed to hug either it or me. Possibly both.

From the fridge, I'll remove some rose wine and pour two glasses. We'll drink as the oven heats up.

When it is at the suitable temperature, I will proceed to try and cook 'Duck a la Orange' with little knowledge of the actual process needed. Oh, and with noodles and stir-fry vegetables.

We'll eat, drink more wine, and the elephant toy will have none because he is inanimate.

For dessert, strawberry tarts are in order. Also, more wine. When we are both suitably drunk, I will show her this very post and marvel at how much everything went to plan.

Or how good intentions oft go astray or however the phrase goes. We'd be too drunk to care anyway.

:D

http://annekat.deviantart.com/art/Blueprints-74378723

Word of the Week...

2008-09-25T12:00:00.000+01:00

FLAMBE

–adjective

1.	/flɑmˈbeɪd/ Pronunciation- (of food) served in flaming liquor, esp. brandy: steak flambé.

Ceramics.

a.	(of a glaze) dense and streaked with contrasting colors, usually red and blue.

b.	(of a ceramic object) covered with a flambé glaze.

–verb (used with object)

3.	to pour liquor over and ignite.

Tropic Thunder

2008-09-25T00:07:00.000+01:00

What’s It About?
Ben Stiller, Robert Downy Jr, and Jack Black are all shooting a terrible war film in Vietnam. In a bid to make the film work, the director takes them into the jungle to shoot guerilla-style.

But they go too far and encroach on a drug lord's territory. They're lives are in danger and the actors just think it's all a film. Hilarity ensues.

My Thoughts Going In…
With a cast of Downey Jr, Stiller, Black, Coogan and Cruise, who wouldn't be excited by this film? No-one, that's who. You know, if you couldn't guess the answer.

Looks Like…
Since it is never in the film rulebook that comedies have to look good, it's quite refreshing to see one that does. No expense has been spared and we're treated to big explosions and some nice filmic shots.

Some ropey CGI let the film down every now and then, but only in brief blip form.

Sounds Like…
Like the visuals, the music here was BIG. War movie big. Epic, even.

Actual songs fit well into the plot, interweaving the story well. At least, until a certain song and a certain celebrity dressed on a fat suit dancing. Then the music is ill-advised. In fact, the whole scene is.

Feels Like…
Night at the Museum should have been funnier. With a cast of Stiller, Wilson, Coogan, Williams and Dick Van Dyke(!), comedy gold should have been pouring out of the screen and into your eye sockets.

And since the review is about Tropic Thunder, that film should have been funnier too. Ben Stiller is playing Zoolander again, which means playing the same jokes. Jack Black, and actor who relies mostly on charisma, is lacking that very charm for most of the film. Steve Coogan is removed, rather forcefully, too soon to have any real comedic impact.

So it should have been funnier, but doesn't mean there aren't laughs to be have.

Robert Downey Jr proves once again that he could play any role ever created by playing an Austrailian who is playing a black sergant. Any scene with him is guarenteed to put a smile on your face. His banter with the other black actor is a highlight.

Danny McBride, the comedy face-to-watch, gets the same kind of role as he had in Pineapple Express. Basically, he gets beat up and plays stupid for laughs.

Matthew McConaughey pulls an amazing comedy talent out of the bag. His tough agent, with an innocent view of friendship, is the films second best character. And he only loses out because Downey is awesome.

And Ben Stiller, even when repeating himself, is still one of the best comedic talents we have.

So yes, it's still funny. The plot is smarter than it lets on, with subtle references to the film industry that flew over a lot of heads. It also sails perilously close to some offensive material, so credit has to be given for getting away with it.

I feel that if the film was looser, and the actors able to riff more, the whole thing would be funnier. But maybe I'm just tainted by Judd Apatow films now.

Verdict…
Good, but not as good as it could have been. Funny, but not as funny as it could have been. Almost a wasted opportunity, saved by the strength of the performers and a wonderfully funny cameo by Tobey Maguire.

Unoriginal Heroes

2008-09-24T02:36:00.005+01:00

WARNING: CONTAINS SPOILERS!

First, let me state conclusively that I like Heroes. It is an entertaining show that keeps me coming back week after week. It is nice to see something so geeky affect the public as much as it does. Whatever negative words follow, are valid points but not deal breakers.

Begin rant:

Heroes has never been the most original of shows. In essence, it is just X-Men done for television. This premise has even been televised before, via The 4400 to name one example.

But what really annoys be is just how fragrantly and obviously they steal, and how much they get away with. They're bringing comic book stories to the mainstream audience, but because that audience have no idea about the original source material, they seem to be cutting and pasting entire plots.

The characters themselves are sub-par versions of the X-Men. The healing power was explored better with Wolverine, Jean Grey was always a better psychic than Matt could ever be, the stealing of powers was Rogue's to begin with and Peter Petrelli is Peter Parker without the spider powers. They didn't even bother changing first names.

Jessica's split-personality, which seems original enough, is just a sexed up version of Moonknight.

But I can ignore this. There are only a certain amount of powers available in the world, and it was sort of inevitable that X-Men would get there first.

But then some very similar plots start coming to a screen near you. Mutants held in cells because a company thinks they are a danger to mankind. Weapon X or 'The Company'? Teenage angst about not being normal from Claire "Spiderman" Bennet. A nightmare man that haunts a young girl is just the Phoenix Saga all over again.

The first two episodes of the third season have taken the biscuit though. In 80 minutes we've had a character from a nightmarish future in which mutants are hunted travel back in time to stop it all happening (Bishop from X-Men), a scientist that tests a serum on himself to gain powers, only for it to go disastrously wrong (The Green Goblin from Spiderman), that same man sticking to and climbing a wall (So obviously Spiderman that I want to cry), characters coming inexplicable back from the dead with no explanation (Any Marvel title you care to mention), and even manages to stick in a character with magnetic powers (Magneto!).

In two episodes they don't manage to come up with one original idea. But because people don't read comics, the same people are hooked to these "wonderful" storylines.

They've even taken to stealing from themselves by once again travelling to the future, seeing everything go horribly wrong, then keeping the audience guessing until the end.

They aren't even answering the important questions on everyone's lips: Does Mohinder's power of voice-over go away when he has super-strength, does Sylar's power not work through wicker cupboard doors, and why does future Peter still have a scar when he has a) the power to heal and b) the power to change his appearance?

Heroes is an over-rated, clichéd piece of television. And a damned guilty pleasure.

I know it's rubbish and I know it is plagiarising every comic under the sun, but it is done in such a way that I just don't care. I can see where they are manipulating my curiosity, but for forty minutes I'll let myself be manipulated for the pure adrenaline thrill.

It is not the best programme on TV, or even remotely close. But it is stylish and entertaining enough to keep watching.

For now.

[/Rant]

:D

http://wanderlustlove.deviantart.com/art/Superhero-14208376

Groban's Musical Tour Through TV

2008-09-24T01:09:00.001+01:00

Obama Meets Bartlet

2008-09-24T00:44:00.002+01:00

I'm a HUGE West Wing fan, and a bigger fan of the West Wing dialogue.

So let me share with you this.

Proof once again that Bartlet needs to be a real person and run for president.

:D

Dreaming of Ice Cream?

2008-09-23T01:22:00.002+01:00

I'm currently sitting in my kitchen and watching Bones in the early hours of the morning.

My dog is asleep in a basket next to me. Yet, every so often, he begins to lick his pillow. He'll lick for about a minute before, I'm assuming, he begins to dream of something else.

I don't know what he is dreaming about, but in a misquote from When Harry Met Sally: "I'll have what he's having!"

:D

http://capjohnny-ii.deviantart.com/art/sleeping-dog-I-76090344

Pants!

2008-09-22T23:15:00.003+01:00

Let us all talk about underwear. The joy of fabric on bums, elastic around waizts, or lace on rude bits. Boxers, knickers, briefs, thongs. Let's talk about pants!

I like pants. As an item of clothing, they manage a rare feat of being intrinsically funny and sexy at the same time.

For proof of funny, the word pants itself can be used. There are not many words that would have small children laughing when shouted at loud volume across a crowded room. Pants can.

For sexy, I point all boys upwards and all girls to this picture. In a way, the underwear is sexier than what is underneath. They are the tease, the allure.

They are also our secrets. We only show our underwear to a trusted few. Without alcohol or ill-fitting trousers involved, we would never consider showing strangers the colour of our pants. It's the reason for changing rooms in clothes shops. Seeing someone in pants is not a right, it's a privilege.

We all wear them. They come in all shapes and sizes. You can even buy them in supermarkets now. Pants are a way of life!

So why, when I was wandering around clothes shops with Emma, did I feel embarrassed when looking at the selection of knickers? It felt naughty, like I was a dirty boy who was witnessing the forbidden. What kind of society encourages this behaviour?!

I say we stand up and throw off our shackles! Pants should not be a dirty word (It can still stay funny)! We need to embrace our pants and proclaim our love!

Viva Pants!

:D

http://venus2u.deviantart.com/art/underwear-97078453

To Pastures New

2008-09-19T00:24:00.000+01:00

In less than twenty-four hours, my little sister, the youngest in the family, will have moved out and into her University home. Life is catching up with me and I’m feeling old.

It was only three years ago that I was taking the journey myself. I was marveling that my life could all be fit into a small amount of boxes, shopping at bargain supermarkets so I didn’t starve in my first week, and saying goodbyes to all I loved.

Boy, has my life changed!

My life can’t fit into my room, let alone boxes. I’ve lived more, loved more and learned more than all that combined. I’ve lived in three houses, fallen in and out of friendship groups, got drunk way too much, slept way too little and worked just enough to keep me from starvation.

And here’s my sister, preparing to take the same journey. They’ll be differences of course. She’s a girl so bound to fall in and out of friendships more than I did. She’ll also balance her money better. But her life is going to change in a big way.

I stand here and wave goodbye, looking forward to the stories she’ll tell at Christmas as a new person. But also, I’m a little sad.

I guess I might just miss my old sister.

:)

http://saintworksart.deviantart.com/art/She-s-Leaving-Home-83093321

Word of the Week...

2008-09-18T00:35:00.000+01:00

ALBEIT
–conjunction
although; even if: "a peaceful, albeit brief retirement."

Five Syllable Hell

2008-09-17T00:05:00.000+01:00

There used to be a time when I thought life was sweet and simple. In fact, I still do in my own little way. Good people win over villains, love conquers all, and if you are skilled and willing, people will give you a job.

But as I'm approaching my 13th week of job-seeking allowance, my belief is being worn down. Cruelty is one five-syllable word: Overqualified.

Let me take a moment from the point I have just made, to make a second, related point. Bare with me though, the transition won't make sense to start with.

I live in Bracknell. Don't apologise for not knowing where Bracknell is; no-one does. I spent all three of my uni years telling people that I lived 'near Reading', and the only reason that Reading is on people's radar is because an awesome music festival is held there every year.

Anyway. Bracknell is a shit-hole; a town so gloriously low-brow that the focal point is a complex with houses a cinema, a bowling alley, a bingo hall, and a pseudo-Italian/American restaurant. This is a town where the average mother is too young to drink in America. A town which has the award 'Chaviest place in Britain' as its only claim to fame.

Most of my friends don't even live in Bracknell, since I went to school in an adjacent village. Here, I have a girlfriend and a family, and in just over a week 50% of them are leaving.

So let us now examine the job choices available in the hell-town in which I reside. The current list runs like this: shop-assistant at a hair and beauty salon, bar-tender at a down-and-out pub, or a cleaner. All the other jobs are variations on this theme.

But none of these jobs are me. Trying hard to avoid snobbishness, I'm above them. I don't want a career in washing people clothes, and my messy appearance puts me out of the hair and beauty shop assistant parameters. What worries me is that I'll reach a point, very soon, in which I'll be forced to accept on of these jobs and I'll spend the rest of my life sobbing into dry-cleaning.

There are some jobs that seem alright. An IT assistant at a school, or working in a library. I like computers and books, so I'd be passionate. I'd turn up to work on time every day, work hard, and be good at my job. But, alas, I have a degree.

People with degrees can't work the little jobs apparently. They can't stack books on shelves or fix computers. They're too good for that. They must get big careers, in office buildings and with high wages. They have a degree, dammit! They deserve the best.

I refer you again to points three and four again. I live in Bracknell. Bracknell is a shit-hole.

The types of careers available to me are office jobs with companies I don't give a damn about. There is no creativity. Just pencil-pushing and paperwork. The types of dead-end careers that will have me trapped in purgatory forever.

In a perfect world, I could search for jobs in London, a mere hour's journey by train. But I'm stuck in the lame catch-22 in which to get a job in London I need money to live there, and to get money to live there, I need a job.

It's infuriating, soul-destroying and really quite rubbish.

What's an overqualified BA meant to do?

:(

http://photoboy66.deviantart.com/art/Will-Work-for-Food-54021660

The Game of Drinking

2008-09-15T00:43:00.000+01:00

I like getting drunk.

This isn't a new statement, or something you won't find coming out of the mouth of most young people, but I have a degree so somehow my opinion counts more.

I like the tingle of tipsiness, and the skewed off-balance feeling when you stand up without realising just how much you have consumed. It's a game, a new way to look at life.

I'm a good drunk. When I drink, I don't get violent or miserable; I'm your best friend, and loud, and up for crazy misadventures.

I like the stories the day after. The cigarette burns or the failed wooing attempts or that friend who disappeared for half the night.

Alcohol is the spirit of adventure, the lubrication to have an awesome night. Play the game right, and have fun.

Play the game wrong, however...

I don't like feeling sick or being sick. I don't like when the drink catches up with you, and you realise at this point how much you consumed.

I'm a good drunk. When I drink, I know how much to drink most of the time. It's a fine line: lots is fun, loads is sickly. And I never drink alone.

I don't like not having stories to tell the next day; the black holes in your memory that are lost forever.

Alcohol is the devil. It infects your soul, plays your body like a banjo, makes you honest and deceitful and mean and ignorant. Play the game wrong and you spiral into destruction.

Play the game right, however...

[Return to beginning]

:P

http://tinoplex.deviantart.com/art/Drunk-20418403

I Think He Hates Sandcastles

2008-09-14T23:50:00.002+01:00

Possibly one of the funniest pictures I have ever seen. Thought I'd share it with the world.

:D

A Story of Stolen Ideas

2008-09-14T23:33:00.003+01:00

Back in the summer of 2006, when I was approaching the end of my first year, I sat in the bedroom of a guy called Ben. We had tea in our hands and jokes on our lips.

We were plotting a comedy film because we had time to kill and the inclination to make people laugh. We sat for a whole afternoon and evening, and by three the next morning we had written down the whole film.

It was about two friends, losers, whose lives became more and more like the films they watched. It had running jokes about going to the pub, one character who kept getting shot, and a brilliant finale in which the two characters face off against the villains in a barn. Except they don't really; a third group shows up, so the main characters just try and survive whilst the two parties kill each other.

We're proud of it.

Fast-forward to the spring of 2007 and the release of Hot Fuzz. We both saw it separately, since Ben had moved away from Leeds, and both came away with the same reaction: They stole our film!

They stole our pub running gag, the quaint English village setting, amongst several other things.

I'm bright enough to know that they didn't really steal anything from us. We aren't even on Edgar Wright's radar. But the fact that they managed to play the jokes first means that we'll be accused of plagiarism if and when our film gets made.

But you know what? Life sucks and you move on. So we did. We rewrote some jokes, and tried to step away from where Hot Fuzz walked.

Again, fast-forward, this time until you reach today: the end of summer 2008. I've just been to see Pineapple Express and you know what I saw? Our finale!

You have the two main characters in a barn, trying to desperately not die whilst two warring sides kill each other. The barn even looked like the one in my head. They even had a character who kept getting shot. That was our running joke!

Yes, our finale is slightly different, and yes, I can make it work, but the similarities are annoying. The last thing I want is to be accused of stealing, especially from two film-makers I adore and want to be one day.

Guess it's back to the outline for more changes.

:(

http://klaq.deviantart.com/art/Thief-52790911

Pineapple Express

2008-09-14T22:51:00.004+01:00

What’s It About?
A stoner witnesses a corrupt cop and a drug lord shoot a guy. The corrupt cop and the drug lord witness him fleeing the scene.

The stoner, with his drug-dealer friend, try really hard not to get killed or get arrested, and instead get high.

My Thoughts Going In…
Knocked Up fights in my head for best film of 2007, so another film starring Seth Rogan has a lot to live up too.

Looks Like…
Oh come on! As if anyone is watching this film for cinematic beauty. Sharing a philosophy with Kevin Smith films, Pineapple Express pushes the comedy into the spotlight and hope nobody is looking closely at the visuals.

When it is need, things work. Wounds look suitably realistic and explosions go bang with explosive style. Just don't be expecting Oscars.

Sounds Like…
The film is laced with old cult songs, playing on car radios or in apartments. They're fun tunes, and add a nice atmosphere to the film. And when the heroic music kicks in at the end, it is epic!

Feels Like…
Seth Rogan is funny. This is fact. Put him in a room and let him riff, you get gold, my friend. Gold! James Franco is also funny, which comes as a surprise to those who know him as angsty Harry Osbourne. Put the two guys together in a room, you get something better than gold. Diamonds maybe?

When these two are allowed to riff, we get the funniest scenes. They bounce off one another with ease; setting up jokes and batting them for six (or 'out of the park' if you're American). They are the core of the film, and the reason you'll keep watching.

This is good because, I'll be honest, the film isn't that good. Subplots aren't wrapped up or properly delved into, and the main plot soon falls into an excuse to just push the characters from one comedy situation to the next. It doesn't flow, but stumbles like the drugged-up protagonists.

You won't realise though. I certainly didn't until I truly looked at it. You're laughing too much to care. Like the visuals, the plot is pushed to the back of the stage, to give the comedy room to tap-dance away.

And what a dance it is. When it is slapstick, the falls and punches hit the mark nearly every time. The dialogue slips jokes in that won't be caught until a second, third, or tenth viewing. The film isn't even trying; comedy comes naturally.

The film won't be remembered as the best film of the year, or even the best comedy, but it is hugely enjoyable. You'll laugh. You'll cry with laughter. You just might not think. It isn't that type of film.

Verdict…
Knocked Up's little stoner brother. Bit more simple, likely to fall over a lot, but still cut from the same cloth and worthy of your time.

And So It Begins

2008-09-13T18:24:00.003+01:00

WARNING: Contains Spoilers!

As the weather gets worse, television gets better, as if to make us forget the fact that we've only had about a week of summer.

My list of awesome shows to watch keeps growing, and most are coming back for new seasons this month. The first back is House.

I'm honestly so excited. The last season broke the repetitive mold (a little) and the finale was heartbreaking and had me in tears (a lot). So here's to continued success and more of the brilliant Hugh Laurie.

Then we have Heroes back for a third season. We've been promised a quicker pace and any new characters introduced via current characters. Hopefully this means that season three will live up to the hype set by the first season.

To finish off the 'H' programmes, How I Met Your Mother is back for a forth season. Will Elliot from Scrubs accepts Ted's proposal? Will Barney win over Robin? I feel they could be surfing rather close to the shark by making Barney a one-woman man, but I have faith!

There are more shows, Entourage, Scrubs and Bones to name three, but I'm still in the process of catching up with them, so won't be enjoying the current series just yet.

Thank god for cold weather and good TV!

:D

Hellboy 2: The Golden Army

2008-09-12T09:33:00.004+01:00

What’s It About?
The elves, long ago, built lots of clockwork soldiers. These soldiers were ruthless and indestructible. But then the king became all angsty over the deaths of humans, locked the army away and separated the crown into three pieces.

At some point in the future, the elf prince is stealing the crown pieces in a bid to raise the army and purge human kind. It’s up to Hellboy, a girl who can set herself on fire, a really smart fish-type thing, and a German scientist made up of gas and voice by Peter Griffin, to save the day!

My Thoughts Going In…
I was one of the few people that didn’t mind the first film. Sure, it was a little-scattershot with its story-telling, and the ending dragged to infinity, but it had style and heart that many superhero films seem to lack.

Also, Del Toro had commercial and critical success with Pan’s Labyrinth (Good, but overrated) and this film was being made at a different studio, so surely the director would have more freedom with the sequel. Right?

Looks Like…
This was the first film’s strong point, and in the sequel it remains top of the list. The film is a marvelous combination of costumes and CGI. We’re introduced to so many odd creatures so seamlessly that they just seem like they’ve always belonged.

Seriously, look for the stitches here. Point to the screen and say conclusively “That’s CGI!”. Because, barring the obvious (e.g. the tooth fairies), I’d say you’d have quite a game in front of you.

Some of the creatures are truly majestic. The angel of death creature, with eyes in its wings and none on its face, was terrifying. And Hellboy is still as perfect a creature as he was in the first film. The young Hellboy, not so much.

Colour, creatures and the real world combine wonderfully to make this one of the best looking films of 2008.

Sounds Like…
Here I’m at an impasse. On one hand, the music suits the moment, underpinning the emotions going on and improving the scene. I’m thinking of the falling from the window, the ‘Beautiful Freak’ montage and a rather funny scene involving Hellboy and Abe singing.

The score, however, is loud and obnoxious. It plays its beats without tact or subtlety, and takes away from the action happening.

Feels Like…
I’ll answer the important question first: Yes, it is better than the first film, but only just. It hasn’t become a whole new film. The plot is more linear, but this time out the film introduces too many themes, leaving most of them hanging.

And again, the ending is drawn out, with a scene interrupting the big finale purely to set up a sequel.

But things have improved. The characters are more drawn out this time. Liz gets to be funnier and feistier, a vast improvement on the whiney emo Liz from film one. Abe gets a sub-plot too, falling in love with the elf princess.

It’s a shame to see Hellboy and the FBI chief (Maybe. I forget his actual role) hate each other once again, after the conclusion to Hellboy, but it provided nice comic relief. And Hellboy gets some nice moments too, especially following his “Public perception story”.

The fights are the highlight though. Rich and kinetic, I haven’t seen fights this energized since…well, ‘Wanted’. They are the reason the finale worked better than the first. This time we get a whirlwind battle between demon and elf, instead of the pulling of a grenade pin.

Luke Goss, and I hate myself for saying this considering his boy-band background, makes a good villain. He stands with authority and fights with skill. Its just a shame about the American accent.

The film deals more with the demon world too, which was a strong move for a director that finds his strength in demons and clockwork. The troll market is a visual feat, the tooth fairies both cute and horrifying.

Here’s hoping he can bring the same magic to ‘The Hobbit’

Verdict…
A slight, but crucial, improvement to the first film. In any other year, this would be the superhero film of the year, but a certain Dark Knight and a womanizing billionaire stop Hellboy reaching greatness.

Word of the Week...

2008-09-11T09:57:00.002+01:00

PONTIFICATE
–noun

1.	the office or term of office of a pontiff.

–verb (used without object)

2.	to perform the office or duties of a pontiff.

3.	to speak in a pompous or dogmatic manner: Did he pontificate about the responsibilities of a good citizen?

4.	to serve as a bishop, esp. in a Pontifical Mass.

Happy News

2008-09-11T02:10:00.003+01:00

Okay, where to begin.

First, the world hasn't ended. As far as good news goes, this is right up there. It means I can keep breathing and living, two of my favourite things to do in the world. The experiment didn't go wrong, and we weren't sucked into nothingness. Which is awesome, since nothingness gets dull after a few hours.

For those that don't know what I'm talking about, read a paper sometime!

In more localized, personal news: Jessica is back from the dead. She's had new parts stuck in and has spent several hours this evening having new drivers installed so she can do more than just sit here and look pretty, but she is now good as new, with the exception of a slightly sticky spacebar (And yes, you DO have a sick mind!).

What this means, hopefully, is that severe lack of me on this site should be remedied in the very near future. I've got posts written, I really have, but they remain stuck on my internet-free desktop out of sheer laziness on my part. They're really good though. Honest.

I have, however, been unable to recover the documents from the old Jessica, so am now script-less. But the reason (or one of them) I haven't been updating is because I've been writing other things. Like a short script and a treatment for the pilot that I lost.

Oh, I also have a girlfriend, something I realized the other day that I haven't mentioned here yet. So I'm going out with Emma now, which I'm sure is interesting to the one person who reads this that doesn't know me personally. I'm sure she'll get a kick out of seeing her name again, if she ever gets time off work to read this.

The story of our get-together is quite interesting, but also long and I'll probably need permission to tell it. Post for another day, methinks.

Oh, and the American television season is starting up again. Which means new 'House', new 'Bones' and new 'Heroes' (In order of importance). I've also become addicted to 'How I Met Your Mother' too, and the new season brings more episodes of that. I'm a little in love with Neil Patrick Harris, since he is both Dr Horrible and Spiderman rolled into one.

Anyway, I'm running out of good news right now, it's late, and I'm up early in the morning. This was mostly just to say, I'm back! Sorta. Maybe. Here's hoping!

:D

http://bayb-kiedis.deviantart.com/art/Smile-38226114

How To Make Friends And Influence People

2008-08-29T19:26:00.002+01:00

Every year, during the Media Guardian International Edinburgh Television Festival (MGIETF), an event is held known as the McTaggat Lecture. An influential television personality addresses a room full of everyone important in the industry and discuss the current state of television.

Last year, Jeremy Paxman scolded television for its simplistic view of its audience and its reliance on capturing the "all-important" 18-25 crowd. This year, the speaker was the head of ITV, recently fired from the BBC over the Queensgate scandal. He spoke about the dangers, and new challenges, that new media and channel fragmentation brought to television.

But, more importantly, I was there this year.

Hidden in a corner, on a balcony, and as far away from the proper industry professionals as we could humanly be place, sat 150 of us. We were the eager kids on a course to get jobs. We were here to learn about the television industry.

The speech was amazing, and remained entertaining despite its forty minute running time. But this isn't important. This is just the setting of the scene.

The real beginning to my story is at the end of the speech, with the words "If anyone fancies it, there will be a party, with free drinks, held at Dynamic Earth."

The beginning of the story continues with my thoughts being, in this order: "A party?", "With everyone important from the industry attending?", "Free drinks?" and lastly, "This is EXACTLY what this weekend is about!".

The beginning of the story then abruptly ends with the knowledge that we, the young job-seekers, were not actually invited to said party. Oh, the defeat in my heart at that moment. But this is where the meat of the story begins.

Like I mentioned before, that party was the exact reason I was here in Edinburgh and so it became my goal. In my head, access to that party meant access to the industry. I had to be there.

Since it was only the second day, my friendship with people hadn't taken off yet. I recognised some people, and knew the details that you tell people the first time you meet them (Where they live, what course they've just finished) but none were friends. This didn't stop me trying to recruit them.

"Want to gate-crash that party?" I asked, eagerness on my face. "No" is what everyone responded with. They were tired, or they were going to party elsewhere, or it was impossible.

And maybe it was. Who was I to buck the trend? Some young, wannabe-writer, with no concept of the order of things. Big, important people went to free-drink parties. People like me sat outside. That was the way it was supposed to work, wasn't it?

A coach pulled up, ready to take people back to their rooms and to their beds. A queue formed for it and I joined it. These people were right. The party wasn't for me. And so I took the shameful walk towards the door.

Now, this part my sound cliche. It's that bit in the movie when the hero wrestles with a decision and at the very last moment gets off the train to pursue his true love. But sometimes, just sometimes, it happens in real life.

I didn't get on the coach. Instead, I stood by the door, wrestling with my head. Two paths were very clearly in front of me. I could get on the coach, head home, take money out, drink and party. Or I could search for this party and blag my way in.

One was a guarantee. With ID and money, you can get alcohol anywhere. The other was risky, wandering around Edinburgh on a whim and a dream. I chose the latter, because if I hadn't I would have regretted it forever.

So I left the coach behind and began the trek into the centre of the city. I didn't know the way to the party, so I followed people with name badges and suits, the people that looked important.

On the way I tried to work out how they would separate those that were invited and those that weren't. It was down to the colour of our name tags. I had light blue, and the people in the suits had red. Damn! It was obvious I wasn't invited!

Anyway, turns out that the suits I was following didn't know the way either. I latched onto another group, and a third, before eventually arriving at Dynamic Earth.

It was AMAZING! Like a huge, bubble tent full of famous people and free wine. There were clowns on stilts and funny looking lights. Suddenly the journey had been worth it. Until I saw...

...two more young people like me. They sat rejected, about 100 metres from the venue. They'd tried too, and were casualties of the strict door policy. Did I walk all this way only to find defeat and disappointment?!

I talked with the two of them for a while, analysing what they did wrong, before they departed for the guarantee of entry and alcohol. I took a deep breath, and approached the door.

I was rejected.

Yes, that's right. I had walked all this way, through the winding streets of a Scottish city to find myself denied access. It was devastating! And yet I refused to give up.

The balloon-esque venue was see-through, and from outside I watched all the important people mill about and drink free wine. They were living my dream, damn them! Maybe, I thought, I can catch one when they leave to smoke. I could pitch myself and get a job or, at the very least, entry to the party.

So I watched with envy green eyes and waited for that all important person to leave. They never did. People tended to leave in groups, or already talking on the phone. I was raised to be nice and never interrupt someone. My plan had fallen at the first hurdle.

"Chris!" I heard. This is my name, so I turned.

Now again, I must warn about cliche. This part of the story sounds like a lazy screenwriter's tool, a wee bit of deux machina. But it is 100% truth.

The person calling my name was someone I used to go to college with three years ago. We weren't really friends, merely acquaintances, and I had pretty much forgotten his existence. But here he was, greeting me with a smile and a handshake. And, ever so importantly, a badge that could get him inside.

Apparently, last year he did the same course that I was currently doing, and this year he was a steward. This meant an all-access pass to lectures and parties. So I explained my predicament, he took my badge off and placed his one over my head and we casually strolled into the party.

I was there, inside. I had succeeded! Victory was mine! Etc!

Inside, I spoke to an ex-producer of Dr Who and a guy called Charlie Brooker who writes for the Guardian and presents very funny shows. I drank free wine and beer. I found out that a mere ten people had tried to get into the party, and five had managed it.

Later, as the party was ending, I met two of those people. One, a girl called Evonne, I had met at breakfast that morning; another fact that would seem cliche if it hadn't been true. She had snuck in through the kitchen and convinced the chef to let her pass. It is her story I will steal if I ever write my autobiography.

That night I almost saw a burlesque show, was bought a bottle of cider by a Belgium stranger, and got so lost trying to find my way home that I had to ring Emma to get her to Google Map me to safety.

But none of it compare to getting into that party, and having this story to tell.

Best night in Edinburgh!

http://scienceishardcore.deviantart.com/art/Animal-Party-66277180

Buddy Christ

2008-08-28T12:00:00.001+01:00

What I SHOULD have said to the person in Edinburgh who asked if I was "personal friends with Jesus":

"No. I don't make it a habit to befriend imaginary people. Not after the whole Santa episode."
"Yes, and the bastard owes me money! If you see him around, tell him Chris wants what he owes me or I'll send the boys in!"
"I was. Until he broke my heart!"
"J-Money?! How is my main man?"

:P

http://slytherin85.deviantart.com/art/Who-would-Jesus-ban-70478203

Strangers with Evil Candy

2008-08-27T23:25:00.002+01:00

"It'll be just like starting University again!' I said to all that were forced to listen 'I'm meeting a whole bunch of people, leaving in halls, and going to classes. It'll be awesome!"

What you have just read is the view-point of someone who hasn't started University for three years. During this time, all the bad memories have faded, leaving only the false or rose-tinted.

So for the benefit of my past-self, who will never be able to read this in time, here is one simple truth: People are scary.

That's right. Anyone you don't know, assuming that you have been properly educated, is a potential threats. We are brought up to think this. Strangers offer you poisoned sweets that will blacken our stomachs. They pick you up in cars and take you to their houses where you have to eat vegetables ALL the time. Strangers are bad people.

The idea of a weekend in which I must meet and befriend 149 strangers makes my brain flee with arms waving in the air. There just isn't enough time. I need to watch, tread carefully, and calculate the danger. In three days? Not possible.

But whilst my brain is allowed to run free, even if that does mean away, my body must stay and schmooze. Small talk is shared; the unimportant things like age and favorite films. Nothing that could be used to there advantage, things like the location of my spare key.

I get so used to sharing little pointless things that I run on autopilot when talking to people. I'm Chris. I'm 21. I like Serenity. Lather, rinse, repeat, forever and ever. I'm safe, but missing out on the real conversations.

Like, how would you defend your house against a ninja invasion? Or, what do you think it's like to die? Or, how is it that Big Brother is still getting commissioned?

The types of conversations you have with people who you know and aren't afraid of. The best bit about University really.

It certainly isn't the stranger-filled first few weeks. Just what was my past-self thinking?!

:D

http://pullmyheartstrings.deviantart.com/art/undie-shy-19385266

To Edinburgh, and Beyond!

2008-08-20T14:04:00.001+01:00

There should be a review posted today. There won't be.

There should be another on Friday, but that won't be up either.

And don't think Monday's will be posted either.

Because early tomorrow morning, and I'm talking stupidly early, I'm getting on the train and going to Edinburgh.

It'll just be like University again. I'll be moving into halls, meeting new people and going to lessons.

I will sample the TV industry world, listen to lectures from TV professionals, write scripts for real-life actors and hopefully get a foothold into some kind of job.

And I think that is a little bit more important.

Will report back next week, hopefully in a happy mood.

Till then, bye bye!

:D

Forbidden Kingdom

2008-08-18T06:00:00.000+01:00

What's it all about?
A kid, who looks remarkably like a second-rate Shia LaBeouf, finds a magical staff that teleports him to a kingdom far away.

There he meets a drunk immortal, a monk and a beautiful girl, who help him on a quest to return the staff to its rightful owner, the Monkey King.

Looks Like...
Nothing special.

At no point does the film look bad but it mostly just gets along doing average. Colours are colourful and darks are dark (occasionally TOO dark). The CGI was passable. That is all.

Special mention does have to go to the costume design however, who managed to crystallize each of the characters with the costume they wear.

Sounds Like...
Despite having quite the famous composer (A Mr. Gregson Williams, I'll have you know), the music itself was generic and just got the job done, without flash or brilliance.

Feels Like...
Now I must repeat myself again. The story was nothing special, just merely passable.

We've all seen these type of stories enough times to quote them off by heart. Kid has trouble in real world, travels to mystical realm, defeats great evil and then uses the things learnt to sort out their real life. All it is is "The Neverending Story" all over again, with a Chinese twist.

But the film knows what it is, and also knows why people are coming to see it. The reason is right up there on the film poster. Jet Li and Jackie Chan. This is the first, and possibly only time, we can come and see two great film martial artists fight in the same film. It's the most important day for these types of film for the foreseeable future. It'll sit high until a certain Mr. Lee rise from the dead.

And it is here that the film rise past passable and into kickass territory. When they fight inside the temple, it is like watching masters at play. It can be argued that neither is in their prime, but the kick, punch, tumble and fall better than any of these new pretenders to their throne.

It is when these two are on screen that the film hits its stride. They have chemistry and seem to be enjoying themselves in a way that almost breaks the forth wall. They look like they're enjoying their first chance to work together.

It is just a shame they have to choose this film to do it in. As mentioned, the story is predictable and cliche, yet still full of plot holes. The hammy plot is complimented by pretty hammy dialogue and acting. There are laughs, but not enough considering the material. At times it takes itself WAY too seriously. And characters aren't fully developed or properly explained (Why exactly does the girl refer to herself in the third person?).

Despite all this, it IS watchable. The tone is childish and simplistic, but also fun. And it also never patronises, which earns it bonus points.

And if anything, it should be seen for one of the pivotal fight scenes in movie history.

Verdict...
Not great, but not terrible either. If you're a fan of either Chan or Li, their fight is worth the ticket price alone.

Wall-E

2008-08-15T21:39:00.006+01:00

What's it all about?
Earth has been abandoned by humans because of pollution, and they've all taken refuge in a giant space-station.

Wall-E (Waste Allocation Load Lifter Earth-Class) is the last of the robots left to clean up. Because he's been left so many years, he has developed the glitch of curiosity.

When EVE, a robot in search of any signs of life left on Earth, arrives, Wall-E falls in love and so his adventure begins.

Looks Like...
Your eyes have been sprayed with pure beauty.

Every year we get legions and legions of CGI cartoons from the good (Shrek), the bad (Madagascar) and the ugly (The Reef). Yet, in sheer animation quality, Pixar top them all, as easy as an Olympic runner at a school sports day.

But every year I worry, because these films ARE getting better, and I'm always unsure whether Pixar can pull it off again. But they did, and then some.

When it is good, it is perfection. Both Wall-E and EVE seem like Pixar found a wasteland and shoved two real, working robots into it. It was that good.

Even at its low points (the humans) it is as good as the best of its competition. So nothing to complain about on that score.

Sounds Like...
It is always amazing that Wall-E and EVE could be understood despite they say about ten words between them. To pull off over half an hour of silent film is something to be applauded in this age, and so props are given and hard work recognized.

The voice acting, like most Pixar films, is good without being celebrity driven. There is no Mike Myers/Cameron Diaz/Eddie Murphy combination here to draw the crowds, just the correct voices for the characters.

Feels Like...

Okay. Let me get the negative out of the way first. This is NOT the best Pixar film ever. This is a studio that delivers amazing films, time after time. I would argue that they have never made a bad film. So to not be the best is not such a negative thing.

It plays its green message a little strong, occasionally letting preaching slip in, although I never found it too distracting. When the story focuses on the humans, the story slips from awesome to good. And...that's it. Negative stuff out of the way, now I can be a fanboy.

I loved this film. I was always going to love it, unless the exception that it pulls a 'Crystal Skulls' type disappointment out of the bag. I was going to love it because I love Pixar.

This is a company that values story over big names and fancy gimmicks, who always deliver something new and creative. Wall-E was there biggest leap of faith, a film in which the lead characters hardly speak. I've said it before here, but the fact that this film even got made in this ADD-riddled children's market is a testament to the faith that Pixar put in story over "what the kids want". Even if I hadn't loved the film, I would have loved the gesture.

Wall-E, himself, is an expertly drawn character. He is pure robot, and yet the animation team has made him more emotive than the best of human actors. He hums and blunders through the film; part Johnny 5, part Buster Keaton. He feels real and therefore we feel for him. The film is not Pixar's best, I've already said that, but Wall-E ranks up there as the best character they have created (Standing side by side with Boo from 'Monsters Inc')

EVE, the design opposite of Wall-E, is the perfect partner for him. Whilst he tumbles, she glides. He explores, whilst her mind is set on one goal: finding life.

Their relationship is the core of the film, and the best bit. The way they interact, in a melody of beeps and hums and half-pronounced words, is fascinating to watch. We see Wall-E fall in love instantly and know why. Through his actions we see how much he cares for EVE. When she ends up falling for him, we care because he cares.

The film contains more romantic moments than most real-life romantic films. Their first "kiss" is the most touching, sweet moments you'll see this year. That is until you see their second one, which tops even their first. It is a moment that should bring tears to the eyes of all who have hearts.

The only reason the human element in the second half feels slightly disappointing is that it has to be compared to the fabulous scenes with these robots. Ironically enough, Wall-E and EVE are more human than any of the actual human characters that we meet.

Verdict...
If it was all Wall-E and EVE, it would be guaranteed two thumbs up and every word of praise I could give it. If it was all human, it would get one thumb, and a few words on the heavy-handed green message.

The film sits somewhere in between, but I sway higher because of everything it tried to do.

The Dark Knight

2008-08-14T14:04:00.001+01:00

What's it all about?
Batman and new DA Harvey Dent are working to clean the streets of Gotham City; one with the law and the other with gadgets and fighting.

The Joker wants the world to see that the world is like him, and starts a crime spree in a bid to reveal that Batman is just like him.

Awesomeness follows.

Looks Like...
Whilst 'Batman Begins' relied on darkness and shadow, more of this film is set during the day. This time around it is penthouses and warehouses and police stations that set the scene, and yet just as frightening.

The Joker is there, standing out in the daylight and yet always one step ahead of the good guys. There is nothing hidden with this guy, and that is itself is a little creepy.

The film also plays very little with CGI, especially for a comic book film (<-- This is the one and only time I will use this term to describe the film. Sure, it is one, but it is SO much more). We're dealing with real people, in almost everyday circumstances, instead of watch a virtual Batman leaping off a virtual building into the pixelated Gotham night. And for this I salute the film.

Sounds Like...
In a bid to distance itself from the previous franchise, the actual Batman theme is played very little. This Batman doesn't have a theme song, or anything as comforting as that. Instead we get haunting songs, subtly reinforcing the action.

Also, Batman's voice seemed a whole lot less comically deep this time around. Or maybe I'd just got used to it.

Tastes Like...
Sweet vengeance.

Feels Like...
I expected a lot from this film, there is no denying that. Christopher Nolan is one of my favorite directors (along with Bryan Singer and Joss Whedon). In my opinion, he has never made a bad film and he made the ONLY decent Batman film. So yeah, the sequel had to be something I've never seen before, something amazing. He had to pull something amazing out of his bag of tricks.
And he did. And more.

Everything I was expecting this film to be, it exceeded.

I'd expected Heath Ledger to be the wild card casting choice and play the Joker in a much more sinister way than Jack Nicholson ever did. What the film delivered was the performance of the year so far, with Ledger playing the role so well that I forgot it was ever him.

Instead, he WAS the Joker, chaotic and intelligent and chillingly confident. It was all in the little nuances: the licking of the lips, the tidying of the hair, that smile. From the moment he enters and pulls his 'Magic disappearing pencil' trick, he was screen gold.

I expected Christian Bale to be good, since he always is, but he plays the two roles of Batman and Bruce Wayne superbly. When costumed-up, he gets to be all noble and heroic, and as Bruce Wayne he is expertly sleazy. Best Batman ever.

Aaron Eckhart is the anti-Bruce Wayne (He's the white knight to Batman's dark knight. Geddit?), and is suitably noble. And when the inevitable happens (And it IS inevitable, even for those who don't know the mythos!) Eckhart's performance means that the change makes sense, even earning him a little sympathy.

The rest of the cast are all acting at the top of their game, with special mention going to Gary Oldman as (the eventual) Commissioner Gordon. In any other film, they'd be praised highly, but here they are over-shadowed by Bale, Ledger and Eckhart.

The story is complex and lined with themes throughout. 'Batman Begins' was about fear. This is about good and evil, dark and light, order and chaos and the duel nature of everyone. There's Batman and Bruce Wayne, different sides to the same man. There's the Joker and the police, chaos and order battling for the streets of Gotham.

And then there is Two-Face, the kick in the teeth if you haven't been getting the themes for the first two hours of the film. You can think of Harvey Dent's coin as the object that sums the film up; everyone has two sides.

And yet these themes never get in the way. I can describe them now only because I've thought back at what was being said, analysed what I was shown. In the cinema though, I was enjoying every minute. And this is rare for me, as I tend to pick the film apart whether I like to or not. It's a flaw.

But on this day, for this film, I was engrossed. Absolutely captivated. And there is no higher compliment from me.

Yet, I feel obliged to pick a flaw, just one thing that stops this film being perfect. A lot of people have claimed that the film is too long, which it could easily be said to be. Yet, to shorten it would mean getting rid of a scene, or a moment, and that is something I would ever want them to do.

So for me the flaw was Rachel Dawes, the love interest. Whilst I think Maggie Gyllenhaal's portrayal was great, and a marked improvement on Katie Holmes is, I just didn't feel she was in the film enough. Sure, neither were Micheal Caine or Morgan Freeman, but Rachel played an important role in many of the main character's fates that she needed to be there more.

But it's a small point, and one everyone should overlook.

Because I cannot say enough good things about this film. Without raiding a thesaurus, I'm lost for words. It's just really, really good.

Verdict...
It is dark and gripping and smart and awesome. Whilst I'm not at all original for saying this, 'The Dark Knight' is, and will probably remain, the best film of the year.

R.I.P. Jessica

2008-08-13T11:58:00.001+01:00

My laptop has died.

With it goes the blogs I was working on, as well as thirty-odd pages of script. Never to be seen again.

However, luckily, some of my latest blog remains. Whilst it won't be up today, I'll finish it soon.

Promise.

http://hazzard7.deviantart.com/art/Grave-53155673

Mamma Mia!

2008-08-11T13:34:00.003+01:00

What's it all about?
Some girl (She was on 'House' once) is getting married and decides to invite three men who might be her father to the wedding.

James Bond, Mr. Darcy and Orlando Bloom's dad promptly turn up, only for her to figure out that without extensive DNA testing, she has no idea which one her real father is.

So she sings ABBA songs.

Looks Like...
A really sunny Greek holiday. It's all very bright and sunny, an image of what the world would look like if ABBA ruled it.

Seriously, the "run-down" hotel has a magnificent courtyard, the sea is crystal clear and even the servants dance around and smile ALL the time. The boys run around topless, to show off their fabulous beach bodies. Sadly, the girls don't.

Sounds Like...
ABBA songs. Lots and lots of ABBA songs. So if you are a huge fan of ABBA, go you! See the film, sing along, enjoy yourself. If, however, you don't particularly care for them, you may find it a little grating.

The songs don't always match. Unlike a traditional musical, in which the songs are written for the story, this story is written for the music. So you'll often find that maybe one or two lines in the song are relevant, whilst the others sit out of place, or kinda, sorta work if you think about it really hard and abstractly.

Also, ABBA wrote these songs over several years and each song reflects the mood they were in at the time. So whilst they might have been melancholy writing 'Money Money Money' for example, they could quite easily me happy whilst writing 'Mamma Mia', something they could have done days, weeks, months afterwards.

In the film however, if you have the two songs playing one after the other, you must somehow create a story device that has the character in the right mood for the song. Usually in about five minutes. This just leaves the characters switching emotions like some freak combination of a menopausal, pregnant woman hitting puberty.

And this would all be excusable if the cast could sing. Unfortunately, that's asking too much of them. They can screech horribly, and dance a merry jig, but it all falls down when they open their mouths.

Meryl Streep can hold a tune, sure. But it's in the same way as that girl whose family tells her how much they like her singing, who'll only have her heart broken when she auditions for X-factor (Or American Idol) and doesn't even get through to see the judges because she is neither phenomenal, nor bad enough for a nation of TV viewers to mock. She's just meh.

Piece Brosnan is terrible, but at least he provides entertainment with the faces that he pulls. Julie Walters sounds like a tyre screech and everyone else either doesn't get a chance to sing, is pleasantly average, or is a Greek peasant who, judging by their acting performances, are all trained singers.

Tastes Like...
Sickly sweet, with a hint of cheese.

Feels Like...
The overriding feeling I got from this film was embarrassment. You remember at that New Years party that one year, when your mum, your aunt and your granny all got REALLY drunk, put on an ABBA song, climbed on a table, and proceeded to screech vaguely in tune whilst swaying side-to-side in what they must have considered a dance? Well, this film feels like that, magnified by a hundred and set on a Greek island.

Whenever the film gets round to telling more of the story, an interesting premise is turned predictable and people expositionalize like they've all had their 'subtext' buttons switched off.

The young couple argue in every scene they're in, making it hard to believe that they were ever in love. The girls screech too much and the boys can't sing. It is all too perfect enough to make it horribly cheesy.

And you know what?

Everything I've said above completely misses the point of this film. It isn't going to win any Oscars, but it was never made to do that. I'd argue that it wasn't even made to be a film. It was made to be an experience.

It was made so that our older generation have a reason to visit the cinema. They can go and enjoy the ABBA music, Meryl Streep and Colin Firth with his top off, because these are all things that older people like (It's been researched and everything).

They're not after a complicated plot line, or the best acting in the world. They just want to go out and enjoy the show and the music.

And it's not ALL bad. The potential dads pull some pretty funny material out of the bag when necessary, as do the older women when they aren't screeching loudly. The songs are never bad and the storyline works in a workmanlike way. Sure, you can figure out where everyone will be at the climax (Except for Colin Firth, who's ending came out of nowhere!) but you can enjoy the journey getting there.

It wasn't my kind of film. I like being a film student and having things to mull over and analyse. But I can't hold that against it.

Verdict...
Simplistic, but fun if you like that sort of thing.

Now, and in the Near Future

2008-08-11T13:18:00.003+01:00

This is a warning, in a way, and just a notice. For the next who-knows-how-many (It's a number, look it up) days I'll be posting film reviews.

This is partly because I've been seeing a ton of new films recently and haven't spoken about them in any kind of formal setting. Sure, this isn't all that formal, but it's all I have!

The other part-reason is that my step-brother has been kind enough to get me the pictures I wanted for a rating system. They're on the left. Looky, looky (I've got Hooky (<--Well done to all those that get THAT reference. There is cake waiting for you somewhere.))

I did want an extra picture for 'higher than two thumbs up', but it still may happen so I won't ruin it here.

Anyway, if you don't like movie reviews, don't come here for a while. We don't want your kind here!

:D

http://b-smitty.deviantart.com/art/I-heart-movies-30943429

Thirty-Eight Secrets About Yourself (Which Aren't Really Secrets)

2008-08-08T13:24:00.002+01:00

Yes, I AM this bored

[one] What is your natural hair colour? Exactly what you see.
[two] Where was your profile picture taken? On a train heading to Reading for a friend's birthday. The costume was 'Spiderman on Holiday'.
[three] What’s your middle name? Eric
[four] Your current relationship status? Odd
[five] Does your crush like you back? I'd like to think so.
[six] No question!!!!! Yes, correct. There IS no question.
[seven] What colour underwear are you wearing? Grey and black.
[eight] What makes you happy? The majority of things. I'm easily entertained
[nine] What colour are your mittens? Invisible and pink.
[ten] If you could go back in time and change something, what would it be? I've seen 'Back to the Future' enough times to know not to change ANYTHING!
[eleven] If you must be an αnimαl for one day, what would you be? A monkey in a safari park.
[twelve] Ever had α near deαth experience? Nope
[thirteen] Something you do α lot? Think too much.
[fourteen] What’s the name of the song stuck in your head right now? I have no song stuck in my head. I've got music outside my head which negates the need for inner music.
[fifteen] Who did you copy and paste this from? Mike.
[sixteen] Name someone with the same birthday as you? Dr Cox's child in Scrubs.
[seventeen] When wαs the last time you cried? Long ago, in the mists of time. I can't even remember. Almost cried at Wall-E though.
[eighteen] Have you ever sung in front of α lαrge audience? Yes, and I lost a shoe doing so. Long story.
[nineteen] If you could have one super power what would it be? Self-healing. Life would just be more fun without the fear of death.
[twenty] What’s the first thing you notice about the opposite sex? Whichever part is most notable. I won't lie and say that the bum is never the first thing I notice.
[twenty-one] What do you usually order from stαrbucks? The only thing I think I have ever ordered from Starbucks is a strawberry and cream ice drink thing. It was tasty.
[twenty-two] Whαt’s your biggest secret? It involves a lot of alcohol and someone that looked quite a lot like a girl.
[twenty-three] Favourite colour? Yellow.
[twenty-four] When was the last time you lied? Question 22
[twenty-five] Do you still watch kiddy movies or tv show? Pretty much exclusively.
[twenty-six] What αre you eαting or drinking αt the moment? I've eaten cereal whilst typing this, but have finished by this stage.
[twenty-seven] Do you speαk αny other lαnguαge? Pig Latin.
[twenty-eight] Whαt’s your fαvorite smell? Freshly baked bread. Or freshly washed hair.
[twenty-nine] If you could describe your life in one word whαt would it be? Incomplete
[thirty] When wαs the lαst time you gαve/received α hug? Yesterday morning.
[thirty-one] Hαve you ever been kissed in the rαin? No. But I have kissed in a swimming pool shower, which kinda replicates the experience. Also kissed underwater, which is more odd than good.
[thirty-two] Whαt αre you thinking αbout right now? "I really want to kiss in the rain now"
[thirty-three] Whαt should you be doing? Writing my script. Or showering before people come round.
[thirty-four] Whαt wαs the lαst thing thαt mαde you upset/αngry? Haven't been upset or angry for a while now. Perhaps the knowledge that 'Mamma Mia' beat 'Wall-E' in the box-office upset me a little, but not enough to count.
[thirty-six] Do you like working in the yαrd? I like watering plants!
[thirty-seven] If you could hαve αny lαst nαme in the world, whαt would it be? Wouldn't change. Does that make me boring?
[thirty-eight] Do you αct differently αround your crush? I act differently around all sorts of people, why would my crush be different. I don't act falsely though.

:D

Writing Doodles

2008-08-08T02:27:00.000+01:00

I’m currently on a roll with my scriptwriting, something that in my current climate is nothing short of a miracle. I’m writing scenes and I know where it is all going and what people are going to say and who is going to die.

And yet, a blog is due.

Not wanting to break from this good feeling towards my script, I doodled (in a writing kinda way) a few short pieces based on the main characters in the script.

They don’t give much away about who these people are, except maybe their chief conflict. But they allowed me to explore the characters a little in a different form, and I’m not wasting my time writing about non-script related things. Apart from these last paragraphs.

I’ll pretend they never happened if you do.

* * *

He opens the fridge and knows what he will see. Water in a glass, chilled for weeks. He left it there to remind him of her. He left it there because he felt that that if he poured it away, threw away the glass, she’d be gone forever. He couldn’t bare that. He’d never tell anyone, but he couldn’t bare it.

Compared to this, saving the world is easy.

* * *

She wakes from nightmares. She’d be sweating if she could. She touches her lips gently and realizes that she has bitten her lip in her sleep again. The blood tastes sweet on her tongue, warm and thick.

A remnant of the dream passes through her mind. She is hunting something. Possibly someone. It is scared, whatever it is. She can feel its fear and hear it panting up ahead. She leaps into the darkness, but the dreamt memory ends and she never knows if she catches her prey.

She slips out of bed, nightie blowing gently around her waist thanks to her lofty bedroom. She doesn’t feel the cold. She never feels it.

The fridge light illuminates the room when she opens it. Inside she removes a bottle. The label proclaims milkshake, but she knows the what it really contains. She hides the truth because maybe if she pretends hard enough, it won’t be true.

She shakes the bottle before opening it, to work the clots out of the blood. It tastes different to her own, staler and bitter. She winces at the taste.

But she has to feed the hunger. She must always feel the hunger.

* * *

His hands were magic. They worked miracles with machines. His fingers danced between circuits and screws, tighten bits and connecting others. It came naturally. His mind was two steps ahead of his body, so he knew everything that he had done, what he was doing and everything he would do.

No-one would disturb him down here, in his own private laboratory. There were signs and people knew. They knew that noise distracted him. They knew he was irritable. They knew that he knew thousands of different ways to torture them.

He smiled at this thought. He’d never hurt someone, but equally, he’d never tell them that. The human mind is a wonderful thing. A perceived threat is just as good as an actual one. He was the fly that looked like a wasp. It was his nature.

And yet, curiously, he felt alone. The room was big, and he was small. Simple physics, he thought. But he knew it was more.

All he needed was a ‘well done’, he thought, but knew he needed a hug. Just simple recognition, he told himself, when he really needed a companion. Anybody really, just to be interested.

His father couldn’t; too busy on fundraisers and business meetings.

Maybe a robot, he considered, knowing that no amount of circuits or computers would keep him happy.

* * *

He didn’t know it yet, but Lily knew that he’d break up with her. In three minutes, she figured. She still hadn’t got the hang of the whole ‘seeing the future’ thing.

So she watched. She watched his subtle hand movements that built a wall between the two of them. She watched how he could never meet her eyes. She watched as he only ate one, half-hearted bite of his pasta.

Boy, she didn’t even need to see the future to see what was coming.

She couldn’t sit any longer. She couldn’t wait for him to break it off. Why give him that satisfaction?

“I think we should call this whole thing to an end”

And with that, she was gone. She had to move quickly; she knew what would happen.

You can’t change timelines without consequences. She’d learnt that, on too many occasions. And she couldn’t let people see. They’d think her a freak.

She was one, but she didn’t want people to know that.

In an alley, behind the restaurant, she fell apart. The world span, her legs buckled and thousands of timelines played over in her head. It hurt a lot. Less than the first time, but enough to make her scream out in pain.

People probably heard her, but no-one would come and help. Not in this city. Not for a freak.

:)

From Graduation to Bankruptcy (In Three Easy Steps)

2008-08-06T01:40:00.001+01:00

Step One – Graduate
This bit is the real easy bit. You turn up to the University. It’ll be done up all fancy, with banners wishing the class of 2008 (Or whichever year you graduate) a happy graduation.

You’ll pay outrageous amounts for parking and queue to get your cape and hat that you have already paid outrageous amounts for. You’ll look spiffing by the way.

Get your photo taken, say your hellos and do all that, because pretty soon you’ll be heading inside for the ceremony.

This will consist of people that you have never heard of speaking about a University which, chances are, you are leaving anyway. Then you’ll wait patiently through a list of names, most of which you will not recognize, to hear them say your name, which you already know.

Then you’ll walk on stage, shake hands with a stranger, and receive your degree, which isn’t in scroll form like most media would have you believe.

But then there will be cake.

And this is the best bit. Because it is over now. You can throw your hat in the air, and drink free champagne, and hug people who you’ll never see again, and have billions of photos taken.

Then you’ll change into your civvies (To steal an army term) and party the night away in Leeds (Or, you know, wherever you graduate). You’ll drink till you can’t remember the people you are with, which is a good thing because this will be the last time you see them.

Then cry yourself to sleep.

Step Two – Procrastinate
Need a job? Find one tomorrow.
Should write that script? A sentence will do.
Need to shower? You’re alone. Stinky is fine.
Hungry? Food is for wimps!

Step Three – Bankrupt(ate)
At this stage, if you have successfully completed the last two steps correctly then you will find that this step comes naturally.

It is nature that a fool and his money is parted.

To put it another, less cliché way, if you have no job, lounge around the house all day, and still decide that pub and cinema trips are good investments, you will run out of money.

It’s science.

If you would like to avoid this step, get a job, fool! Or kid yourself that you’ll find one at a TV festival at the end of the month.

At least that’s what I’m doing.

:P

PS: I’m not as bitter as this makes out. Imagine tongue firmly in cheek throughout.

Free Toy Inside

2008-08-05T14:02:00.003+01:00

I had the bowl out, and the milk. I get the spoon out last usually, because it is at the other end of the kitchen and I'm lazy like that in the morning.

But as I'm pouring out the cereal, a prize drops into my bowl, wrapped in plastic. It isn't a toy, or in anyway connected to a film that has recently been released, like these prizes so often are. It is just a cereal bar, made from chocolate and raspberry.

But I swear, I've haven't felt so much like a kid for a long time. I was giddy. Seriously.

I think I'm going to go play with some Lego.

:P

http://dearsecret.deviantart.com/art/Cereal-71777645

Wedding, Thoughts and Opinions on a

2008-08-05T00:35:00.002+01:00

All the hassle and stress of getting to the church, of finding a place to park, of dressing up nice with a tie and super-smart shoes, of meeting family that you haven’t seen in years or people who you haven’t met ever, of standing in the rain and of sitting on a hard wooden bench are forgotten when the music plays and the bride walks down the aisle in a stunning white dress.

Seriously, why stress when people look that pretty?

* * *

Being in a church and dealing with religion for the first time in a long time, I am struck with two thoughts.

Half of me is admiring the beauty of it all. They’ve really got that stained glass technique down.

The other half is despairing at the maddening nature of religion to give all credit to a god, that may or may not exist.

In the opinion of the priest, god wanted to show that he loved the bride, so he introduced her to the groom. Then, because he wanted to show his love for the groom, he introduced her to the bride.

Now, as nice a romantic notion that story is, it totally negates the first date, the nerves of the first kiss, the little gifts and the ‘I love you’, the hugs, the tears, meeting the friends and meeting the parents, and the proposal; all of which are infinitely more complicated and therefore mean so much more in the grand romance scheme.

Why would two people want to give someone else credit for the love that they show each other?

* * *

Also, the priest looked like Stephen Fry, if his face had melted a little bit.

* * *

A good way to sing hymns and pray, whilst simultaneously not taking part in the religious aspects, is to replace the words ‘God’, ‘Jesus’, and ‘Lord’ with ‘Chuck Norris’. Works wonders, I tell ya!

Also, everything still seems to make sense.

* * *

Advantage of a four-star hotel: The comfiest bed in the world!
Disadvantage of a four-star hotel: Pint of cider for £3.10.

Advantage of a four-star hotel: Gorgeous food and plenty of it.
Disadvantage of a four-star hotel: Pint of cider for £3.10!

Advantage of a four-star hotel: Friendly (if a little camp) staff that even manage to smile in the early hours of the morning.
Disadvantage of a four-star hotel: Seriously, a pint of cider was £3.10!

Advantage of not having a job: I didn’t pay for a single pint.

* * *

What is the chief bridesmaid’s job again? You know, beyond trying not to look prettier than the bride.

* * *

Tip for anybody getting married: Hire a Master of Ceremonies who gradually changes into camper and camper costumes over the course of the night. Not only is this entertaining to watch, but it also annoys the homophobic amongst the wedding party.

If anyone cares, he ended the night in a skimpy dress.

* * *

But my final thought on the weddings is this: only one thing matters. You can get rid the disco and the fancy food, the high priced alcohol and the pretty clothes, the speeches and the religion, and even the guests. It can rain or snow, thunder and lightning or shine in a sunny way.

As long as you are standing next to the person you love and you get to say two very important words, than it’s all worth it. The kiss is just the icing on the cake (Yeah, you don’t need a wedding cake either)

At least in my opinion.

:D

Excuses Excuses

2008-08-01T11:00:00.000+01:00

Just two posts ago I was here, promising a more regular schedule to this blog. Monday, Wednesday and Friday I said. I crossed my heart and swore on people’s lives.

But we are now a in a different month and I’ve only written one post, right at the beginning of this new leaf. Rubbish, you say. But let me explain.

First I was ill. Not just a cold, or just feeling a little bit down. This was a full-on fever. This was a throwing up, achy, goosebumpy fever, sweaty, hot kiss illness. The kind of thing that you cure by wrapping yourself in bed or on the sofa, watch loads of comforting television and drink flat, sugary drinks. Cuddles help too.

Writing anything, or even simple thinking, would NOT have been beneficial and so the blog was left to grow weeds.

Then, as my body fought its way back to health, I was packed into a car and driven to Leeds for my graduation. Now there’s a blog to write about the whole adventure, and I don’t have the time now, but it basically involved wearing a funny hat (One of my favourite activities) and waiting eagerly to here my name being called.

Once back in the comforts of home, and after having the pure unadulterated pleasure of seeing ‘The Dark Knight’ (More on that later), I was drafted to work in the garden. Digging in the hot, hot heat of a British summer doesn’t lead to writing, and neither does cuddling up to watch TV, which is how I spent the evening. I know that this time could have been spent writing but screw it. I’d worked ALL day (read: a couple of hours)!

Now I’m sat here, in a hotel room in Preston and dressed to the nines (A shirt). In about five minutes I’ll be off to a wedding and once again I won’t have time to write. Except to, well, explain why I’m not writing.

But I swear, come Monday, there will be a new blog. Seriously. I promise.

:D

http://ducksxsayxmoo.deviantart.com/art/what-s-your-excuse-35026520

Environmental Terrorist

2008-07-21T12:00:00.000+01:00

The world is crying for your help. It wants you to save it. The icebergs are melting and the summer is getting longer and hotter. Everything is going belly up.

It isn’t the only one crying either. Al Gore is crying, about truth and inconvenience and stuff. The bin men are crying too, because you’ve put a bottle top in to recycle when that just isn’t possible. And the government are crying because they think it will get them votes.

Everyone is crying that the world need saving, the world is in danger, the world is getting hotter and will explode into a million, billion pieces tomorrow if you don’t stop driving RIGHT NOW!

But I’m staying dry-eyed. Because I don’t care.

Don’t take this as a lack of ignorance on my part. I’ve researched some things and watched that documentary people keep going on about. A rational part of my mind tells me that recycling is probably a good idea. But an even larger part of it thinks about sandwiches and shiny things, and it is this side that wins. Every damn time.

Part of the reason is that global warming isn’t an immediate threat to me. I can’t see species of butterfly dying in front of me. I’m too far to see the melting icecaps. And when the hot weather rolls out, I’m thinking about laying in the park with an ice cream instead of seeing it as the world-ending threat that it is supposed to be.

Also, I’m young and therefore rebellious. Everyone is crying to save the world, so I’m taking the opposite stance. I don’t save the world! I’m an environmental terrorist.

Whilst this may conjure images of a Captain Planet villain, what it mainly entails is running around with a bag of cans and plastic and putting it in people’s (heaven forbid) green bins. Just to spite them.

This is because I am young and I am right. Even if every other person everywhere else tells me the world needs saving, they are wrong. The only right people are those that agree with me, and they will only stay right as long as they think everything I think. It’s a nice easy way to see the world.

Sure, maybe the world dies a bit, but until I can watch an ice-cube melt in a second simply by holding it outside, I don’t believe the world is in any danger.

The fact that I will eventually inherit this (probably seriously damaged) world doesn’t really occur to me, the same way that when I drunkenly punch a hole in the wall of my house it doesn’t occur that I will inherit it when my parents die. No, instead I just carry on my drunken wreaking spree.

It’ll only be when I’m older and wiser, when I stand at the cracked wall and tut. The whole house will now be structurally unsound because of my actions, and I’ll wish I’d cared way back then. I may even invent a time machine to kill myself, thus stopping myself punching the wall, but also creating a time paradox at the same time.

And in the same way, there I’ll be in the future, living in a boat because 90% of Earth is underwater, wishing that I’d just listened to everyone else and recycled my plastic (but not bottle tops) and my tins and my paper. Then, maybe, the world would be alive and well, and not crying itself to sleep every night.

But until then, I’m young, and there are sandwiches and shiny objects to look forward to.

:P

PS. The following are not true: I don’t put cans into people’s bins, I don’t drunkenly punch holes in walls when drunk, and I would never risk a time paradox to try and kill myself in the past.

PPS. The following IS true: I care more about sandwiches and shiny objects than global warming.

Ctrl + F5

2008-07-19T17:02:00.001+01:00

Or Refresh

Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Atomic Bomb

I remember a day, not so long ago, when this blog used to be daily. It was a fun time, filled with flowers and skipping through fields and sunshine. Nowadays, blogs are rare occurrences. They pop up every so often, with no thought to sticking to a schedule. They get written, they get posted. The end.

There are several reasons to why this is. The first is laziness. Why write something when I can be out partying, or lying in a park, or playing videogames, or just doing something that feels less like work? There is no reason why, at least at the time, so I don’t write.

When I do get round to writing, it is to write other things. I’ve recently been accepted into a 5 day networking event in Edinburgh, an off-shoot of the TV festival taking place at the same time, and I’ll be meeting a whole bunch of big media types. You know, heads of channels and stuff. This means I’ve got to make sure I have a script to bring with me, so I can casually break into their suitcases and leave it.

Lastly, I like my posts to be of a certain quality. I could easily stick to a schedule if I just posted a funny video or a quick thought, but this seems lazy. So instead, I post nothing. Because obviously that makes sense.

But whatever the reason, what the lack of posts mean is that I get friends complaining that nothing new has appeared, less readers, and a horrible feeling every time I go and attempt to post something new. It’s off putting, seeing the long gaps between posts.

So here, right now, on the 19th July 2008, I propose a new schedule. From this time onwards, posts will appear on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Sure, I may get inspired and write more, but the gist is that there will always be posts on those days.

This will (hopefully) give me chance to write when I feel like it and keep to something bordering on regular. Maybe I’ll find that I write more, and add an extra day. Maybe not. Time will tell.

Guess you just have to look forward to Monday now. Until then, go to www.drhorrible.com and watch the videos contained within. At least until tomorrow, because then it’ll cost you.

:D

Sleep, Or Lack Thereof

2008-07-12T15:32:00.000+01:00

So I’ve been having trouble sleeping.

I know, I know; as far as insightful opening lines go, this one ranks pretty low, but it does have the benefit of being true.

Night after night after night (That’s right, three nights) I’ve laid in bed, sleepless. I try to fall asleep, but the act of trying just makes things harder.

One reason why is my breathing, something that seems to be hard to do recently. Here lies the initial spark of insomnia. I can’t breath so therefore I can’t sleep. One follows the other, like day follows ‘ice cream sun’ (If you spelt it wrong). You ever tried sleeping whilst holding your breath? Really, really hard.

But breathing is hard to fix. He set yourself a rhythm, breathing out more than you breathe in, then you think of anything that isn’t oxygen related. Years of having asthma has taught me that it is often not the fact you can’t breathe that is the problem, but the fact that you know that you can’t breathe.

So anyway, there I am, breathing rhythmically and thinking of anything I want. I count sheep for a while, but stop when I realize that my mind can do anything with these sheep, and making them jump a fence is really boring. I start to ask myself questions. Really mundane things; I don’t want to keep myself up with complicated philosophical questions.

What is two plus two? Four!

Who is a nicer person: Hitler or Alison Janney? Certainly not Hitler!

Which is better: water or squash? Brita filtered? MISTAKE!

Suddenly I’ve answered a question with a question and started a reaction that will last almost all night. It’s not even like it was important.

Of course the water is Brita filtered. With this question you’d always take the best water and the best squash. But that answer doesn’t change my previous one; I prefer squash no matter how filtered the water is. So I’ve started this chain of questions for no godly reason.

Because now I’m wondering whether you could filter fizzy water. Would you lose the fizz? How about squash, could you filter that? Would you just get water out the other end? And then, would there be orange gunk in the top bit? And coke? What happens if you filter that.

Of course, without access to a Brita filter and the drinks or, at the very least, the internet I couldn’t find out the answers. So all I’d have was a bunch of pointless, unanswered questions floating around in my head. And this, in turn, leads to no sleep.
You’d think that after one night of this, I’d be tired enough to fall straight asleep the next night. And you’d think right. But I only seem to be sleeping for a couple of hours before waking and repeating the same process again and again.

So here I lie, typing this, tired to the bone. There is no reason for me to be mentioning this apart from one thing: If anyone has a Brita filter and ready access to coke, could you do me a favour?

:P

http://kokosowa.deviantart.com/art/insomnia-and-the-city-91479694

Death with a Pretty Face

2008-07-11T00:24:00.003+01:00

When she stands in the rain, she doesn’t get wet. She wears a hood anyway, more for effect than anything.

When it’s hot, she doesn’t sweat. Despite the black that she wears, her temperature never rises. She is forever cool, forever collected.

She’ll stand still for an age, ever patient. All she ever does is watch and smile, because human life, when viewed from the outside, is extremely entertaining.

When you finally notice that she’s there, which only happens once, you’ll fall in love. Once she has your heart, your soul will follow.

She won’t say a word. She won’t need to. You’ll know what will happen, what needs to happen. You’d walk with her for eternity if you could. You can’t.

The journey will only seem to take a second when you’re with her. At your destination, she’ll lean into you and whisper in your ear.

You’ll forget what she said, almost as soon as your hear it. The harder you try to remember, the more it will float out of your mind’s grasp.

But you’ll know it was wise. You’ll feel at peace; with the world and with yourself. You’ll smile, without realizing that you are smiling alone.

You will always remember her and you will always love her, but you will never see her again.

She’ll be standing in the rain, waiting for the next person to glance at her, to notice that she has been standing there all along.

http://gensoukyoku.deviantart.com/art/hood-91440901

Mr. Dog and His Red Balloon: A Child’s First Philosophy Book

2008-07-10T16:52:00.002+01:00

Mr. Dog was the blackest of poodles. His best friend was Billy Johnson, a little boy who would often give him biscuits.

But Billy was seven, so most of the week Billy was at school. During this time, Mr. Dog’s best friend was a balloon.

It was red and it was shiny. A white string hung from the bottom, and helium kept it in the air.

Mr. Dog loved his balloon. He loved it as much as he loved bones and digging in the garden and chasing cars (Actually chasing cars, not the song from Snow Patrol. He did find that song mildly catchy though).

He would knock it with his paw and chase it as it bounced down the garden path. He’d let it go, letting it float up, before catching the end with his teeth.

One day, he sneezed. This wasn’t usually a problem for Mr. Dog, but this time stopped him grabbing the end of the string. The balloon floated away.

Mr. Dog chased it: through hedges and across roads and over fences. But it never came down again and soon the poor poodle lost sight of his round, red friend.

This didn’t stop him however. He refused to give up on his friend. He wandered the streets until the light began to fade. Soon it was night and it was at this time that Mr. Dog met an owl. They come out at night, don’t you know.

The owl was perched on a low branch of a tree. He looked friendly, so the dog approached him.

“Excuse me sir’ said the dog ‘Have you seen a red balloon on your travels?”

However, even though both spoke English, their points of reference were so far removed that the owl didn’t have a clue what the dog was saying. Instead, he just flapped his wings.

The dog never did find his balloon, but he never stopped trying. Billy came home to find that his dog was missing, but not amount of ‘Missing posters’ ever got Mr. Dog back.

The End

:D

http://donfoto.deviantart.com/art/balloon-79353350

Memoirs from Poole: Emma's Story

2008-06-23T16:26:00.003+01:00

After writing the story about stolen kisses, in fact straight after, I was tasked with writing another story. When I asked what I should write about, all three girls chipped in ideas. I think the things say something about the girls' psyche. The list finished like this:

Kittens
Babies
Emma's Mum
Elephants
Geese
Church
Lemon
Bananas
Megan

The following is the story that came from the list. The majority of it was written then and there, but I have just written the ending. At one point Emma was going to die, but she was granted a reprieve. Mainly because I’m sure that I would have never heard the end of it if I had killed her.

Enjoy.

Emma saw the fireworks first. They made no noise; silent explosions of colour. There were devil reds and electric blues (her personal favorite), envy greens and violent purples. As she watched, more and more began to explode blue until another colour didn’t exist in the sky.

At the gate she was greeted by a goose. He wore a top hat and a red waistcoat. She expected to be surprised by it, but found herself barely blinking, even when it spoke to her.
“Welcome to a land of mystery and truth!”
“Shouldn’t it be ‘the land’? Is there more than one?” Emma asked.
“Welcome to a land of mystery and truth!” the goose said again. This was all he ever said.

Emma paid the fare (Two silver coins and a crimson one; she was never sure where she got them from) and entered the fair. It was red and white and red and white as far as the eye could see. People laughed, or danced, or yelled excitably.

An elephant stomped on past, right in front of Emma. She smiled, because she wanted one. Reality changed, and suddenly she was stood by a baby elephant. It belonged to her, she knew it in the back of her mind. It padded along next to her as she explored.

She saw the bearded lady (and was glad she didn’t have a beard), the acrobatic dwarf (and wished she had kept up those gymnastic lessons when she was five) and a kitten, standing on its hind legs and dancing. It was here that Emma stopped, entertained by the show.

Except she couldn’t stop herself thinking that the whole thing would be much more entertaining if the kitten was juggling. So then she was watching the kitten juggle: bananas and lemons and a melon. Her baby elephant made a happy noise, which just gave voice to what Emma was feeling.

“Come and see your life!” a strange man shouted, almost directed at Emma. She wandered over, her little elephant following, and found herself at a small tent. It was black, so stood out from the red and white candy stripes of everywhere else.

“Good morning, afternoon and night ma’am. Would you care to see your life?” the man asked. He wore a large gray mustache, which Emma didn’t like at all. Then he was clean shaven.
“Maybe.’ Emma said ‘But surely I’m seeing it right now?”
“Oh dear me, no! Right now you’re living this moment. It’s not the same as seeing it ALL!’ The newly shaven man explained. ‘Go and see for yourself.”
“How much?” Emma asked, concerned she didn’t have anything he could want.
“For a pretty girl, a kiss’ he said. But as she puckered up and moved towards him, he waved a hand in her face ‘Oh dear, not for me. For him, when you meet him. Or her, if you’re that way inclined.”

Emma thanked the man, lightly bowing her head in a gracious manner, and stepped into the tent. It was empty. At least it felt empty, it was too dark to tell. But she felt alone, and in that moment she realized that her elephant had gone. She was about to go and fetch him when it all changed.

She saw everything, all at once. Her mother’s face, in the agony of childbirth. Her first steps and the smile of accomplishment. Her first kiss, experimental and new, behind the bike sheds.

She saw herself getting married, in a simple church in the countryside. Her husband was tall, with dark hair and dark eyes. When she turned around, she saw her friend Megan, dressed to the nines, smiling proudly; her chief bridesmaid.

She saw her first child, and her second, all at once. She saw them as babies and toddlers and teenagers, as if they were all of those things all at once.

At she saw herself die. She watched from the outside, as the blue car turned the corner too fast and found itself on the pavement. She flinched at the sound of metal on flesh, and a tear fell as she saw her daughter scream.

And then it was over and Emma was just left in an empty, dark room. She shook the memory away and laughed it off. It was silly. She’d already been hit by the car, and recovered in hospital. The doctor had said she was lucky to be alive. She kissed her husband and hugged her children and just got better. Hadn’t she?

She heard a light cough behind her and spun round to greet it. A man stood, visible in the darkness. It was like he glowed. And he was beautiful.

“I guess I need to kiss you then?” She asked, even though she knew the answer.
The man just nodded.
“And then what?”
The man shrugged.

At that moment, Emma wished more than she’d ever wished for anything in her life. She wished she didn’t have to kiss the man. And he faded away. And so did the tent. And the whole fair. She was standing in a field, alone and cold.

A pain ran through her heart, like an electric shock. It made tears form in her eyes and dropped her to her knees. Another pain quickly followed and she cried out in pain.

“Stop!” she shouted. She closed her eyes to block out the pain as a third shock fried her body.

When she opened them again, she found herself in a hospital, unable to move. Her body was alive with pain. She was surrounded by doctors and nurses, rushing around and speaking words she couldn’t quite make out. One held a pair of paddles.
In the window to the operating theatre she could see her husband. His face was wrinkled with concerned, his arms crossed. But he smiled when she opened her eyes.

And even though it hurt, and it sapped her of her energy, she smiled back. Then she fell asleep.

:D

http://morbidthegrim.deviantart.com/art/No-Free-Ride-86134278

Memoirs from Poole: Stolen Kisses

2008-06-22T13:43:00.000+01:00

I didn’t write a lot on holiday. I didn’t check Facebook, text anyone or try and contact the outside world in any way. Writing sort of fell under that category. I was on holiday, so I would not write.

What follows is what happened on the one day that I did write, laid on a sofa and with Emma constantly looking over and saying “Have you finished yet?”.

It is kind of based on a dream, but also on me exploring the phrase ‘stolen kisses’ one afternoon when I was, literally, stealing kisses. Not in the way the story makes out though.

She kissed him outside ‘The Red Lion’, round the back in the darkest of alleys. Illuminated only by a full moon, she moved her hands to his hair, pulling him roughly towards her. He tasted new, of ash and stale beer, and his lips didn’t fit hers, finding her chin too often.

But he was enthusiastic at least, and she was drunk, and his amateur fumbles sent a few shivers down her spine and up her legs. And she loved him. She loved them all. She had to really, for what she wanted in life. It made the kisses mean more, warm her heart more.

She ran her hands down his back, lifting his shirt when she reached his belt and digging her nails in. He drew in breath: short, sharp, pleasurable.

* * *

The next guy was at the office, an old favourite. He was young, and his short attention span meant she was always on the verge and never really enjoying herself. She thought of her workmates in the other room, trying to find enjoyment in the forbidden thrill of it all.

He used his tongue too much, thinking it the way to a woman’s heart. She knew the way to his, and she reached for it through his boxers.

* * *

George kept telling her his name was George. He was so prim and proper, wining and dining her before he even held her hand. He blushed when she suggested coffee, in the way that meant that coffee was the last thing on her mind.

She loved George and his coyness. When he eventually kissed her, he wanted her to be happy. It was refreshing. He tasted of mint, sharp and clean like his mind.

He never did accept her “coffee”.

She left him at her door and listened to him drive away as she climbed to her room. She sat down on the edge of her bed as she placed her heart into the small wooden chest. George’s kisses were white; naïve and kind.

* * *

The fair was loud and busy in the early afternoon. Most people walked past her stall without stopping, or read the sign and chuckled. Occasionally someone would stop, curious enough to offer her the five pounds she was asking.

She thanked them, graciously, asked them to close their eyes. Many refused, but she insisted, adamant to keep her secret. From the wooden box, which was carve with nymphs and stars and hearts, she would remove a kiss.

On this day, George’s kiss floated up first, eager and playful, but she would save that for someone special. She reached into the box instead, feeling the kisses brush against her wrist. From the bottom she removed a black one, dark and smoky.

She planted it gently on the customer’s lips, and watched as he squirmed with pleasure. For that brief, fleeting moment (and for five of his British pounds) he felt loved, even if it was by a tattooed bouncer, who couldn’t tell the difference between lips and a chin.

http://sparxesplin.deviantart.com/art/Alley-kiss-47121305

Memoirs from Poole: Things I THINK I Understand About Girls

2008-06-21T16:07:00.000+01:00

It's been two years since I last lived with girls; somehow I've resided in all-male houses. And even during that year, the girl's very much had their own floor that was very rarely entered. After all, the boy floor had a pool table and the girl's just had smelly soap and make-up.

So the holiday was certainly interesting: living with three girls in close quarters for seven days. I learnt stuff. Not a lot, mind, because if girls could be figured out in a week then the world would be a simpler place, but a little.

What follows is a culmination of all my knowledge from the week about girls.

Girl's hair gets everywhere. Shower, sink, toilet, my pillow; everywhere! Unfortunately, all three girls have brown hair, so it was impossible to pin down the culprit.
Girls are under the mistaken belief that boys are purposely leaving the toilet seat up to screw with them. We're not. We're just forgetful. How hard is it to put the seat down yourself?
Girls (Or some anyway) snore and make nasty noises in bed just the same as a boy. However, boys are discreet about mentioning said noises whilst girls are quite happy to moan about how little sleep they got.
Some girls like plucking their eyebrows.
The average number of bras owned by a girl is eight. However, they all still owned some that didn't fit anymore.
Girls will say things in advance of doing them. For example, "I need the toilet" or "I need a drink". Boys just go and do these things. Girls think the world needs to know their plans.

That's it. The end. All I know.

The one thing I still haven't grasped is how they manage to take a bra off without removing their tops. Defies the law of gravity.

Ah well. There's always next holiday.

Memoirs from Poole: Things I Understand About Girls

2008-06-20T01:14:00.000+01:00

Memoirs from Poole: Never Sunburnt

2008-06-19T02:03:00.000+01:00

I don’t get sunburnt. The sun comes out, shining its hardest to try and fry my skin, and my body just turns a dirty brown colour. It’s a useful skill to have in life.

So on the second day, with its beautiful sunny weather, I didn’t have to worry about burning whilst I swam. Not me. The water kept me cool and the sun was just British sun. My body had survived Italian sun. How could British sun even hope to compare?

And when my face turned red (and broke out with freckles) and my shoulders glowed, I wasn’t concerned. It would fade soon, to a nice brown, because I don’t burn.

And when my shoulders became sore just lying down on a sofa, or whenever anyone touched them, or when a light breeze blew, I didn’t think twice. I don’t burn.

And the fact that I was applying moisturizer to my face every couple of hours was down to something else. It certainly wasn’t me being burnt.

And when I could peel skin off my shoulders, I wasn’t burnt. And the insane stinging sensation from the application of after-sun was down to an allergy or something. It couldn’t be that my shoulders were red and raw from having half the usual layers of skin.

It couldn’t be that.

Because I don’t burn.

:P

Memoirs from Poole: Moonlit Beaches

2008-06-18T01:10:00.001+01:00

Our first night on holiday was all exciting and new. We drank newly purchased cider and ate newly bought (and newly cooked) pizza in the caravan, which wasn’t exactly new per se, but new to us.

When the alcohol lightened our synapses enough, the five of us took to exploring the caravan park. This of course means that we found the members-only lounge and settled there; reading newspapers, drinking coffee and playing free pool (In Poole! – a joke that never grew old). Whilst we have the bodies of 21 year olds, we’re old people at heart, and enjoyed bemoaning the state of The Daily Mail and the quality of machine hot chocolate.

Closing time soon beckoned though, and we were forced back out into the embracing cold of an English summer night. Except that it wasn’t summer yet and it wasn’t all that cold, but who lets truth get in the way of a good story.

With a quick alcohol stop, our continued exploration gave fruit to a beach. The route there was simple enough, and bares remembering. We passed some caravans, crossed a field, went down a single file path, round some boating equipment and found ourselves on a small beach. Remember that.

The moon was out, bold and bright, and it cast a shimmering light on the surface of the sea. The image isn’t unique, and I’m sure it won’t be the last moon I see reflected on the water, but it was that moment that I truly felt on holiday. I have cider at home, and I have pool at home and I unfortunately have The Daily Mail at home. What I don’t have is a beach and a sea for the moon to reflect on. This was new. This was holiday.

We sat and we chatted and we drank and we laughed, and at some point the group split. Over on the far end of the beach were Faye, Megan and Nixon; and remaining in the original patch there was Emma and myself. There was the moon too, and the reflection, and the soft sound of the waves crashing against the sand. And Emma. So I kissed her, because that’s what you do when there’s a moon and a beach and a girl. It’s almost a law.

This wasn’t the first time that I’d kissed her; that was ten years ago, on the field at school. It was awkward and new and surrounded by other children who thought it oh so entertaining that a boy and a girl would be kissing. This kiss was a bit more skilled (I emphasize the ‘bit’) and more relaxed. It was also secret and in the dark. Sort of.

You see, our logic was that if we couldn’t see the other three, they couldn’t see us. We listened as we kissed though, in the knowledge that if our covers were blown we’d hear about it. It’d be scandal, surely. There would be a fuss. We were wrong on all counts.

We were very visible, because we were sat in the light of a caravan. So they did see our ‘secret’ kiss. They weren’t making a fuss because they weren’t there.

I’d like to tell you that it didn’t take us long to realize that we’d been left, but the truth is I do not know how long we sat kissing, or at what point the three of them chose to abandon us to ourselves. We did twig eventually, and hand-in-hand (and leaving our cans behind us) we journeyed back to the caravan.

Now, do you remember the route we took to get to the beach? Because the problem that we were suddenly faced with was that we didn’t have a narrator to let us know we needed to remember how we got to where we were.

We walked past the boating equipment and through the single file path and across the field; that bit we remembered. But caravans look exactly the same in the dark. Just block after block of white with windows with numbers that rose or dropped in what seemed like a random pattern.

The morning went on and we wandered. Occasionally we kissed more because it made the fact that we were lost a bit more entertaining. We made phone calls and were guided down roads that I forgot then, let alone now. Eventually, through the use of signs and maps, we found ourselves back at our base caravan. There wasn’t a home-warming party, because we’d taken so long to get home that everyone had retired to bed.

The next morning I discovered sand in my shoes, sand in my hoodie (which Emma had been wearing) and sand in my mouth; a rather odd reminder that the holiday in Poole had now officially begun.

Memoirs from Poole: Building the Bubble

2008-06-17T02:06:00.000+01:00

We arrived in Poole mid-afternoon, after a fairly unadventurous road trip. Not the best way to start a story or a holiday, but that’s life I guess. We had had a discussion about inventing a GPS device that would answer questions, and another about buying ourselves a soldier, but they were the type of conversations that should be left with the time, place and people that they existed with, for fear of losing their poignancy.

But this isn’t about interesting stories or poignancy. This is about setting the scene, forming the image in your mind that will bode you well for later stories about the adventures and misadventures that took place during the holiday. So let me try and do that.

We were staying in a caravan park (in caravan number 44, for those ‘detail’ people) in the seaside town of Poole. It was one of these family parks, consisting of a café, some bars, a play-park, miniature golf, swimming pools, a snooker table, arcade machines and holiday makers. I’m sure that by just naming things I’m not evoking the most vivid of imagery, but once you’ve seen one of these places, you’ve seen them. If you haven’t seen one, you don’t want your memory space taken up with such images.

What makes these type of holiday places special is the people you spent your time with, and it is here that I come to my first brick wall of describing the events of the holiday. I am usually loath to describe my life unless it is somehow story-shaped or I can add enough opinion to it so as to make the whole thing interesting. I’m even more loath to start describing people I know.

I’ve learnt from experience that if I write my opinion or a description of a person, that person will inevitably read what I right. They’re not often offended, since I never have nasty stuff to say (or avoid saying it through fear of being read) but I find the whole idea a bit unnerving. Also, the description tends to get outdated pretty quick, as relationships change like the tide. And it is usually boring for anyone outside my inner social circle.

Anyway, the point I’m circling around but not really getting to, is that I don’t like writing descriptions of people in my life. However, on this rare occasion I feel it necessary to allow quick images when I mention a name later. I will stick to the facts and keep the whole thing short.

This is Emma. She has known me the longest, got a first in her History degree (give her a pat on the back when you see her) and likes the colour blue. She is nice.

This is Faye. She owns a costume shop and likes fairies. The image you have in your head of that person is probably Faye. She is nice.

This is Megan. She was my prom date, is going to be a teacher and is under the mistaken belief that Buffy should have ended up with Spike. She is nice.

This is (Chris) Nixon. His chief hobbies are drinking, swearing and combining the two. His parents also own the caravan that we stayed in. He is…well, I wouldn’t use the word ‘nice’ but he’s certainly entertaining.

So, the scene is set and the players are ready. The following stories take place in the same little bubble world with the same cast.

Enjoy.

:D

We're All Going On A Summer Holiday

2008-06-16T02:04:00.003+01:00

Now that the summer has come, I must go away. That is how life works.

My bags are packed, with clothes and toothpaste and books, and tomorrow afternoon I'll be away for a week. Under a caravan roof, I'll be living, drinking, eating and partying with five friends for a week.

There is no higher message or point here. I just like typing the words because it makes the whole thing more real. I'm going on holiday soon.

Fun times!

http://spanishalex.deviantart.com/art/Dune-Legs-57862677

Pizza Hut Desperation

2008-06-15T22:34:00.002+01:00

In this modern world filled with magazines which are themselves filled with skinny models which are themselves filled with lettuce and absolutely nothing else, fast food is dying out.

No-one eats burgers or pizza anymore, preferring the five-a-day delights of apples and oranges and salad leaves. Everything is fat-free, sugar-free, probiotic, low-calorie; and greasy, fatty foods just don't get a look in.

So praise Pizza Hut, for their new advertising campaign: "A free happy ending with every stuff-crusted pizza!"

Is this how desperate the fast food industry has come; to be offering sexual favours to it's customers if they just come in and buy a pizza? Come on Pizza Hut! Have some dignity!

On a totally separate note, I'll be having pizza tomorrow. To support the fast food industry, not for any other reason.

:P

http://ssviolentj.deviantart.com/art/pizza-32097050

Summer Mornings

2008-06-12T01:26:00.000+01:00

It's all about summer mornings.

The gentle waking, the drawn-out sight as you leave the world of dreams with pleasant memories as souvenirs.

The puzzle that is your body which, in a bid to stay cool, finds itself sprawled amongst covers in something that people could call modern art. But hey, they can call anything 'modern art' nowadays.

The prospect of sunny days, of picnics, or lying in the warm grass imagining that a simple cloud is something more extraordinary: a bear, or a dragon, or a heart slowly drifting in two.

The possibilities that sunshine brings; a bright new start every single day.

The sigh-yawn, the re-arrange of the quilts for more comfort, the dreams filtering back. The lie-in.

Because it's all about summer afternoons.

:D

http://eternalyunjae.deviantart.com/art/YunJae-waking-you-up-67466214

Nice Guys Finishing First

2008-06-11T23:59:00.000+01:00

If The Apprentice teaches us anything about business, it is that business is ruthless and full of cruel people who would rather sell their mother's house than fail in closing a deal. It is also full of idiots; people who can't look outside their own little bubble world.

In the last twelve weeks, regular viewers (i.e. me) have witnessed enough back-stabbings to keep some reputable knife company (that I can't think of right now) in business, acts of idiocy that defy science, and the biggest over use of the phrase "giving 110%" ever recorded.

Fourteen small-minded, shallow, selfish, arrogant, self-assured people were narrowed down to just four: A loud girl called Claire, a boring girl called Helene, a slimy guy called Alex and Lee 'That's what I'm talkin' about' McQueen.

And if The Apprentice teaches us anything else about business, it is that nice guys will finish first (or be back stabbed by people they thought were friends. Poor Raef.)

The show ended tonight with the best man getting the job; the guy who never got involved in boardroom politics (he was hardly ever there), never betrayed or bitched, and did the job to the best of his ability.

Good call Sir Alan.

Dollhouse

2008-06-10T17:12:00.001+01:00

There are a few constants in life, things you know will never change. The sky is blue, water is wet and anything by Joss Whedon is going to be awesome!

Only half a year to wait.

:D

The Man From St. Ives

2008-06-09T16:07:00.000+01:00

This was a story based on a dream, written at six in morning. Things have obviously been changed to make sense to non-dreamers, but the events remain the same.

Obviously I wasn't a girl in my own dream, but she was there and I felt she had the more interesting story to tell. I ended up being the man of shadow.

I heard tell of the trickster from St. Ives long ago, a brilliant man who had somersaulted across from one rooftop to another in a bid to escape his mistress' husband. He was said to have the most unique smile. But he was myth, this man from St. Ives, a folk legend. I never thought I'd meet someone who believed in him.

We were in a bar, the three of us. Do not ask me their names; I had met them in this place and expected to leave them here too, had events not turned out like they did.

One was flash and loud. He wanted the whole world to know just how great he was. The other, quieter, a dark shadow at the corner of the table.

The bar itself was a terrible place: a cabaret club, lit up in places where bars should not be lit. A number of acts sand, danced or tumbled across a tiny, undecorated stage, and the small smattering of polite applause told me that people thought the same of them that I did.

One act was particularly bad: a man who came on to the stage with birds. I would love to tell that he did something more, but that was all it was. A man and his birds, on stage.

I complained loudly at the inadequacy of the entertainment to the barmaid, as she fixed me another drink. She nodded, mournfully, as if she knew how I must feel. We were connected then, two sisters against the world of poor entertainers. It didn't last.

This was when the two men had joined me. At first I thought they would attempt to woo me; in fact, the way the flash man stroked his ego and boasted of past achievements, I am still not sure if that isn't what he was trying to do. But it never really came to fruition, and we just got drunk together.

Conversation drifted from subject to subject with the ease that alcohol brings. The flash man spoke a lot, knowledgeable in a range of things, whilst the shadow man spoke no words at all. Soon we found ourselves discussing myth, and the man from St. Ives. I had a passing knowledge of the story, but the flash filled the rest in.

He was said to be the Casanova that came before Casanova; a lover of many women and even a few men. He was bright and beautiful and the story goes that he was trapped on his mistress' rooftop, unable to turn around for fear of a spear in the back. In an act of agility, the man from St. Ives leaped backwards and landed on the rooftop of the neighbouring house, living to slept around another day.

Our conversation was cut short by a scoff coming from the bar. The bird man had taken a stool nearby, and when the three of us turned to look at him he let us know exactly what he felt about story. It was rubbish and we were foolish to even give it airing. He seem fixed on me, his bile and anger directed towards me. I caught sight of the barmaid and knew that she had told him about my critique of his act. She was a traitor to sisterhood.

The flash man didn't take the disbelief well, and argued back. He'd been drinking fire whiskey, a drink known to raise anger levels and the boasts of the drinker. As if this man needed it.

The conversation battled back and forth, forth and back, going nowhere. The bird wrangler didn't believe that such a leap could ever be made. Flash was adamant it could, if the correct person attempted it. Of course, he was the right person.

It was at this point that the shadow finally spoke. When he did, his voice was as smooth as caramel and made me dizzy.

"Prove it."

That was all he said, all he needed to say. The gauntlet was dropped and Mr. Flash was more than willing to pick it up. Fire Whiskey also has that effect on people.

The fabled rooftop was in the South of France, in a small hamlet by the coast. It would take all night by train to reach it, but to prove a point the man would do anything. He finished the last gulp of his last drink, stood up from his seat and walked out of the bar.

Half of the people in that place came too, curious to know how this story ended. I tagged along too. I had nowhere else in the world to be now, so why not walk away with a story to tell.

On the train, I found myself sat next to the shadow of a man. He spoke more, when it was just the two of us, but the abundance of words didn't make them less sweet or less dizzying. He spoke of beautiful places and fairy stories, and never once mentioned himself.

At sunrise, we found ourselves pulling into the most picturesque little place. The famous building was a five minute walk from the station, but I remember little of it. The shadow man's voice is all that inhabits my memory.

Many of the bar patrons had found more sources of alcoholic beverages, and now stood at the base of the house, drinking and jeering and looking up. The flash man, once on the rooftop and looking at the gap he had to cross, no longer seemed as flash as he did in the bar. The bravery from the Fire Whiskey was wearing off now.

For a moment, I believed that he wasn't going to do it. Sure, he would have the face the wrath of a drunken crowd, but I guess that's a whole lot better than death. But his faltering ended when he caught sight of the bird man, grinning. A fleeting piece of bravado must have flowed through him then, because he leapt.

He didn't make it.

Perhaps, maybe, he landed a single foot on the edge of the target building, but it slipped away and he found himself tumbling too far for someone to survive. He hit the ground with a sickening crack.

Nobody moved to help him. They just stood and stared, speechless statues. I cannot blame them; I made no move to offer assistance. There was a feeling that whatever we did, nothing would change. Fate had played its hand; humans couldn't change the cards.

I felt a presence next to me then and turned to find that the man of shadow was standing at my shoulder. He was smiling. It was a very unique smile.

"No-one ever could make that jump. Don't know how I did it."

I watched him walk out of my life, and found myself longing to kiss him, to hold him, to have him inside of me.

No man afterwards tasted as sweet as I imagined the man from St. Ives would taste.

:D

http://baby--jane.deviantart.com/art/rooftops-41428588

More About Muses

2008-06-01T17:43:00.000+01:00

After the whole Muse story from the other day, I got into a research bug and Wikipedia'd the whole idea of a muse. Found below are the nine muses from Greek Myth. The actually correspond to the picture. From top left...

Melpomene is the muse of tragedy, represented wearing a tragic mask. She is often depicted holding a mask in one hand and a knife or a club in the other.

Euterpe is the goddess of memory and a muse of music and lyric poetry, joy, and pleasure. Her very name translates as "delight" or "rejoicing." She is depicted with the double flute.

Terpsichore is the muse of the dramatic chorus and dancing, hence the dance term "terpsichorean." She is usually depicted seated with a lyre.

Polyhymnia is the long-cloaked muse of sacred hymn, eloquence, and dance. She is mostly presented in a pensive or meditative pose against a pillar or holding a finger up to her lips.

Urania doesn't seem to have an entry in the book that I got the rest of the information from. She is apparently the heavenly muse, of astrology and astronomy. She is often depicted holding a globe in one hand and a peg in the other, whilst standing on a turtle, the symbol of peace.

Clio is the muse to call upon for historical and heroic poetry. Often depicted with a set of tablets or a scroll it was she who introduced the Phoeician alphabet into Greece.

The ancient muse of eloquence is Calliope or Calliopeia - armed with her emblems of a stylus and wax tablets, we turn to this distinguished, beautiful-voiced muse to inspire epic or heroic poetry.

Erato is the muse of lyric poetry and mimicry, depicted carrying a lyre. We turn to her for inspiration with love poetry and the erotic.

Thalia is the muse who presides over rural pursuits, comedy, and pastoral poetry. She bears a comic mask and a shepherd's crook.

See, you learn something new everyday.

:D

http://archeon.deviantart.com/art/The-Muses-56099327

Moving Life

2008-05-31T01:33:00.003+01:00

I'm concerned by the amount of blank days on this blog now, but pleased be assured in the knowledge that the entries are written. They are currently sitting scrawled in black pen inside an old notebook. All I need is the time to sit down and copy them across to an electronic format.

I work and I get home and then have about three hours before I should be grabbing sleep, time which I like to spend unwinding. This usually takes the form of reading books or watching films and doesn't usually included meticulously typing up the stuff I wrote at lunchtime.

I'm in the mood to do it tonight though, but I feel that this is because I really, really need to pack my stuff away. My brain sees typing as a more appealing alternative, but I have to resist the lure.

My room is in an odd state right now. Half is bare, stripped of posters and life, whilst the other half is messed up with junk and bags and junk in bags. The bare half scares me a little. A week ago I was all excited about the prospect of leaving and was very much an 'Only one week to go!' person.

More recently, today, I'm starting feeling a little melancholy about it all. I'm saying goodbye to people for the last time and it's a little depressing. I have got some hugs though, so not all bad news.

Anyway, back to packing! Just wanted to fill this space with something new, even if it is something rushed. I'm not dead!

Come back soon to see my freshly typed up views on fashion, music and the dangers of puddles.

:D

http://blithis.deviantart.com/art/Packing-my-bags-33366631

Five On Friday: Music At A Click

2008-05-30T23:33:00.000+01:00

I was ever so briefly hooked on the iTunes store.

It happened the other night, although if we were being pedantic it happened in the early hours of the morning. Bored and procrastinating, I was surfing the internet and listen to Lastfm. For those that haven’t discovered this wonderful website, you should. Type a singer or a band or a genre you like and the site plays you similar stuff. Great for discovering new music or for when you just get bored of your current musical selection.

Anyway, a song began playing that was simply amazing. I forget the name of the song, or even the singer, now but at the time I was determined to hear that song again. The problem with Lastfm is that, due to copyright law, you can’t rewind.

My quest eventually led me to Facebook and the ‘iLike’ feature contained within. It held a snippet, a thirty-second clip, of the song. This wasn’t good enough to call my quest a success of course, so I took iLike’s suggestion to buy the song. It said I could purchase it from the iStore.

I couldn’t.

Seriously. I clicked the iLink, went to the iStore and found out that they were iLying.

What I did find however, ruined my life. Millions and millions of songs were all there, waiting for me to sample. Of course, my first love is film, but music is pretty close up there. My life has a constant soundtrack, either through iPods, radio or just the music in pubs and clubs.

And here was EVERY SONG EVER (well, almost), all waiting for me just to click. And I did, because I’m curious and weak. I picked ‘Walking in Memphis’, an awesome song that I didn’t own. It asked me whether I was sure. I was. It gave me the song.

It was that easy. Scarily easy.

I browsed and clicked more songs, not quite acknowledging that each click was costing me 79p. I mean, I was aware, but my brain wasn’t quite processing this experience as shopping.

I stopped after I bankrupted myself, but the whole thing still cost me the price of three CDs. I guess the upside is that I got to choose what songs went on those discs.

Anyway, since I need a topic for today’s ‘Five on Friday’ I thought that a pick of five of the downloaded songs would work pretty well. They have a similar feature on the actual site, with celebrities choosing favourite songs.

I’m not a celebrity and these are not my favourite songs, but they are good and I’m all you’ve got.

So there!

‘Fascination’ – Alphabeat

I didn’t like this song the first time I heard it. We were in a car, on a day that listening to music wasn’t high on my priority list, and it began playing from the CD. It instantly reminded me of ‘High School Musical’ and I screwed my face up with disgust.

I haven’t actually seen ‘High School Musical’ but I loath it in principle; if enough idiots like something, I find myself taking the opposite stance to balance the world. Seriously, if enough stupid people wore t-shirts proclaiming how much they just adored oxygen, I’d probably stop breathing.

So yeah, my first experience with the song didn’t go all that well. I walked away thinking it was just another generic, cheesy-pop song and it walked away thinking absolutely nothing, since it was a song.

And let’s be honest, I was right. It is a cheesy-pop song.

However, my next encounter with ‘Fascination’ was in the basement of a club, a little and celebrating a friend’s birthday. That was me, by the way. I reiterate, it is a song! And this time, all the negatives became virtues, despite the music not changing one iota.

Played loud enough, you can forget the cheesiness and the Disney-musical similarities and just enjoy it as the hugely danceable song that is, well, fun.

I still hate ‘High School Musical’ though!

‘Misery Business’ – Paramore

This was another song that was discovered to be genius in the basement of a club, whilst tipsy. Different club though and, also, I had never heard the song.

I danced to it, because it was catchy, and I sang along, despite not knowing the words. I guessed for some parts, and I copied my friend for other parts and when I didn’t know the words I just flailed my arms around and hoped no-one noticed.

When I had the chance to download it and actually find out the words, I did so without hesitation. I still don’t know them, but at least I can listen to an awesome song whenever I please.

And before it’s pointed out, looking up lyrics on the internet is for wimps!

‘Work’ – Jimmy Eat World

The amazing talent that Jimmy Eat World have is to write songs that are fun and connect in equal measure. At least they connect to the emo kid that still lurks inside me, who is crying as I type. He cries a lot.

Anyway, this song really seemed to be speaking about me, way back when (four years ago). I live in a small town and school in an even smaller village, and a big part of me felt that I would never escape. I guess that’s one of the reasons I chose to go to university so far away.

This song reminds me of those days, feeling trapped in small-town life.

Also, one day I really would like to grab some friends, get in a car and drive to anywhere, just to escape. Guess I have to learn to drive a car first.

‘Scar’ – Missy Higgins

This is a happy song about something really depressing. It is usually the case with songs like this that it takes me an age to figure out just what they’re singing about, and when I do the shock is genuinely shocking. How can they sing so happily about something so utterly depressing.

Seriously. Listen to the lyrics. Boys suck!

I don’t know why I downloaded this song, but recall hearing it in my sister’s collection. I’m just a copycat.

‘Absolutely (Story of a Girl)’ – Nine Days

Songs have that amazing ability to take us back to the days we first heard them. This is why I downloaded this song.

It was one of the songs in my collection I played whilst crushing on a girl. The slightly bitter romantic lyrics appealed to me back then.

Because nothing ever happened with my crush (This could be a lie. The crush could be one of two girls) but I can just replace her with a different girl now. I don’t stand a chance with this girl either, so not a lot has changed in six years.

Sad times.

Why did I download this song again?

:D

Post-Indy Stress Sydrome

2008-05-29T15:22:00.000+01:00

Jason (not his real name; identities have been changed to protect the emotionally damaged) shook as he took a sip from his whiskey and coke.

“I keep having the same dreams. An alien stands above Indy and keeps kicking him in the head. I try to run and help him, but I never get any closer. He just keeps kicking and kicking and…”

Tears well up in his eyes and he can’t speak anymore. Everyone around him nods their heads. They understand.

Jason is suffering from P.I.S.S, Post-Indy Stress Syndrome, an affliction that is growing in numbers as the new Indiana Jones film racks up millions in the box office.

It is hard to take seriously. After all, how can a simple thing like a film cause such an adverse reaction? But we shouldn’t be taking this casually at all. Left untreated, this syndrome can cause stress, anger and eventually a lack of emotional contact with the world. It is the only way they can cope with the world.

If you believe that yourself, or someone you know, may suffer from P.I.S.S., please check the following checklist. If you can answer yes to three or more of these questions, you may well be a sufferer.

*Do you find yourself reluctant to watch another film, ever again?
*Do you repeatedly watch the original trilogy and mutter to yourself “Just forget” over and over again?
*Do you feel anger towards people with Indiana Jones-style hats?
*Do you feel anger towards people with beards that have a striking resemblance to George Lucas?
*Have you lost friends because they claimed that the new Indy film “wasn’t that bad”?
*Have you found yourself looking up at the stars and shaking your fist, cursing aliens for getting involved in ANY world affairs?
*Have you stopped eating, because whenever you look at food you think “What’s the point? They’re only going to make Indy 5.”?

If some, or all, of these apply to you or a friend, don’t worry! Help is at hand in the form of P.I.S.S.A.R.T. (Post-Indy Stress Syndrome Active Reduction Therapy). Meetings are held weekly and members are encouraged to drink and just forget about their troubles. Sufferers are asked what they didn’t like about the film, and the allowed the full amount of time to rant and ramble.

We teach sufferers that it isn’t THEIR fault, but George Lucas’, and ask that members write angry notes to him, essentially cleansing themselves of the anger held within.

To find out where your nearest meeting is, please contact 07682 775775 (Not a real number. Numbers have been changed to protect the innocent.)

And remember, there IS life after Crystal Skulls!

http://batfish73.deviantart.com/art/Indiana-Jones-49860310

Carbon Copies

2008-05-28T16:06:00.001+01:00

I don’t get fashion.

Please don’t read that as ‘I am not fashionable’ because that is not the case. Sure, I’m no Victoria Beckham, or the male equivalent (David Beckham?) but I can hardly be called a particularly bad dresser. Just a lazy one. The amount of time I spend choosing what to wear can only be measure by the nanosecond, with the finest time-keeping equipment science can buy.

But no, I just don’t get it. More specifically, I don’t get why in order to be “in fashion”, people have to wear the same things.

Chief culprits here are the skinny jeans; torture device and clothing combined. Wave upon wave of people wearing jeans that condense their legs to the width of a toothpick. A light wind would snap them, I swear. And how boys wear them is a mystery to me. We have parts, guys! Surely too much tightness there… ruins performance. Or just plain hurts.

I bought a pair of skinny jeans once, by accident. Like my daily clothing choice, my purchases of clothes spend as little time being processed in the brain as possible. Get in, get clothes, get out, get sandwich. This means that there is often a failure on my part to read labels. Important labels. Like “Skinny Fit”.

Upon realizing my mistake, I figured I may as well try them on, to see what all he fuss was about. After about half an hour of trying to get them past my knees, I eventually reached a stage where I could do up the fly.

I have never worn anything so ridiculous in my life, and I’ve dressed as Tinkerbell (Another story, another day). For starters, I couldn’t bend my knees, which meant I walked around like a pirate with one too many wooden legs. I don’t know about you, but I like the use of my knees.

The jeans seemed determined to let my know they were there, all the damn time! You couldn’t just get on with your day because the tightness below your waist is constantly shouting “You are wearing skinny jeans! You are cool!” I get how girls in corsets feel now, but whilst a corset pushes boobs out and stomach in, the jeans just seemed to force all the fat from my legs upwards and overflowing over the waistband.

So. Skinny jeans are out for me. So are scarves when it isn’t cold, turned up collars and band hoodies.

Regarding the latter, I have nothing against hoodies, or even hoodies that feature bands on the front. In fact, they regularly appear in my wardrobe. Issues arise when people walk around with the band logos emblazoned on the front and pretension emblazoned on their faces. The idea that wearing the symbol of a cool band somehow embodies someone with cool is ridiculous. The reality is of often the opposite. If someone walks down the street with a t-shirt saying “FBI: Female Body Inspector” (They exist), I always get the feeling that the only female attention they get is in the front seat of a car after parting with fifty British pounds.

The same applies to those who choose to buy clothes that their favourite celebrity has been caught wearing. There are pages and pages in ‘Heat’ magazine (Yes, I have been known to read it) dedicated to this stuff.

“Jennifer Aniston was wearing the most BEAUTIFUL dress at the BAFTAs. Where can I get one? ” The letter will usually say. Heat will reply with news that you can get one cheap at Primark, for only 1.50. Great.

What is should say is “Forget it woman! Jennifer Aniston has a fitness and health routine, and must weigh about three stone now. She has a pretty face and a good figure. Sure, the dress was ‘BEAUTIFUL’ (Why the capitals, by the way? Slip on the Caps Lock?) but it worked because she would look good in a bin bag’

‘We don’t know this for a fact, but judging by our average readership, Heat can only assume you’re a twenty stone, single mum of three children. There is a reason you’re single. You’re ugly! Simple. As. That.’

‘You can get yourself the same dress for only 1.50 at Primark and delude yourself that maybe, just maybe, you’ll be beautiful and successful and Brad Pitt will want to marry you. It won’t come true. You’ll look like a whale in a cheap night gown.”

Okay, so this is a whole lot harsher, and may to win them more readers, but the truth hurts sometimes. It is the only way these people will learn.

I think that the crux of my issue is that people shouldn’t all try to be the same. Sure, I’m ragging on fashion, and I know it happens elsewhere.

In film school, for example, I want to scream every time I hear someone say “I want to be the next George Romero” or, more often now, “I want to make films like Shane Meadows”. The reason these people are successful is because they are doing stuff their own way and not trying to be the ‘next’ anybody. Have some originality! Be the first you.

But it is in the fashion world that copycats prosper and so it is that world that I will call up for its sins.

A world in which everyone looks the same is BORING! Why not skip ahead to the near-future where everyone wears the same silver jumpsuit? Because that’s where this will all end up if we’re not careful.

Fashion. I just don’t get it.

:D

http://phatdesign.deviantart.com/art/Fashion-55617327

The Trouble With Puddles

2008-05-27T23:10:00.000+01:00

There are two important things you need in life: a good head on your shoulders and good shoes on your feet.

Wise advice indeed, yet I forget who said it. The whole thing sounds like something a parent would impart on their child, but my memory seems to imply that it was a drunk friend instead.

Also, whilst the advice may be good, my life has been spent not listening to it. I do have a good head on my shoulder, but am perpetually destroying it with television and alcohol. And my shoes are a mess.

I kind of like them that way. I’ve had them about a year now and they are falling apart quite impressively. It gives them character. If they inexplicably grew mouths and managed to talk, my shoes would have interesting stories to tell, especially over the white, sterile Nike trainers of other people.

Sure, they may also complain a lot, but that’s what old people (shoes) do. It goes with the territory.

My current shoes are so full of holes that if they entered a sponge look-a-like competition they would place a respectable third. Again, it’s all about character.

The downside to having holey shoes, and the curse of many a good person, is rain. It always seems to catch me by surprise: a step in a puddle and a wet sock. Always, damn it. I never learn.

I’ve taken to the only course of action available: like the aliens from ‘Signs’ and the Wicked Witch of the West, I just stay indoors when it rains. Sure, I avoid socialization and work and important opportunities, but at least my feet stay dry.

It’s either that, or have boring shoes. And I need something interesting to talk to when I’m stuck indoors.

:P

http://profanacja.deviantart.com/art/puddle-42239811

Manic Monday (Star)

2008-05-26T02:19:00.002+01:00

So, the word is Star.

My initial reaction was to go with the romance of stars and the humbling nature they inflict on us (By us I mean, as always, me. Maybe they don’t humble anyone else).

Then, I remembered an old joke, I figured I could have the best of both worlds.

So...

Sherlock Holmes and Watson were out camping in the woods. They lay out on the grass, staring up at the stars.

“Watson.” Holmes said, snapping his partner out of his daydream.
“Hm?” replied Watson, which isn’t even a real word.
“What do you see?”
“I see the stars.”
“And what does that tell you Watson?” Holmes asked.

“Well. It tells me that we are so small in the grand scheme of things. That when we get caught up in our own lives we should look up and see that the universe is huge and we are only tiny specks.’

‘And that is just our universe. Somewhere, there is more, which makes us even smaller. How can people even think that their problems with love or work or whatever can mean anything when we are less than a piece of dust in the galaxy’

‘It tells me that people need to take the time to be humble once in a while, to look at these specks of light which have taken thousands of years to get here, which is hundreds of human lifetimes. We’re only around for a blink in the galaxy’s eye and we should savour that time instead of fussing about the little things that will never be remembered’

‘It shows me why people can believe in a great creator, how they can look up at the night sky and see such raw beauty that gives the impression some kind of god with artistic talent had a hand in making this world. But it also lets me marvel at the power of science, how a ball of gasses can create pretty lights that travel for billions of miles to appear to us now. Some of the stars might even be dead, and we wouldn’t know’

‘Why? What does it tell you?”

Sherlock took a puff of his trademark pipe and breathed the smoke out into the night air.

“It tells me, dear Watson, that somebody has stolen our tent.”

:D

http://prisonerofdarkness.deviantart.com/art/Under-The-Stars-66056773

Girls with Nice Shoes

2008-05-25T01:26:00.001+01:00

She had nice shoes.

I’ve forgotten what made them nice, what colour they were or pretty much anything to do with them. Maybe one day, I’ll see the shoes again and it’ll all come flashing back to me. Until then, you’ll have to make do with ‘nice’.

She was nice too, although I forget the details. I remember that she wore a cool charm bracelet and dressed unconventionally. And yeah, she was nice in a pretty sort of way.

We sat across from each other at the back of a bus, separated by about three seats but also by social conventions. She was a stranger on public transport. You don’t speak to them.

I didn’t want to chat her up or anything. I have an aversion to that whole scene, partly because I fear that I’ll come across as some creepy player (pronounced ‘playa’) and partly because it’s always been scary to stand in front of girls and talk. So I don’t chat strangers up. It seems that I only flirt with those I’ve known for ages, which is a fools game also.

But enough about my romantic life, or lack thereof.

All I wanted to say was ‘Nice shoes’, a genuine compliment, just to make her smile. As noble motivations go, I’d say it was quite up there.

But things are never, never that simple. So I compliment her, and it goes badly, what then? What if she really thinks I’m hitting on her? We’re sitting only a few feet away, and the awkwardness would kill me. Maybe I could get off at an earlier stop, and await the next bus. The other choices, headphones in ears or moving somewhere else on the bus, are dead giveaways I’m trying to avoid her after the awkward encounter.

And even if it goes down well, and I get the smile I’m after, what then? We’ve already discussed that I don’t hit on people well, and the idea of stilted small-talk isn’t my idea of a fun-filled bus journey.

What I needed was a way to compliment and run. Like a really nice hit-and-run incident without the mangling of human limbs and car. I hoped she was getting off after me. I could say my piece and leave, unworried about whether my compliment hit home or not. It couldn’t be the other way around. Shouting after a leaving girl just seems lame.

My (not very) elaborate plan was spoiled somewhat when we stopped outside a pub and a bunch of lads got on the bus. They were celebrating some sort of victory in football or rugby or cricket, I forget which, and they chose to take up the three seats between me and the girl with nice shoes.

They were drunk and chanting, which kind of crosses cricket off the list of potential sports they had been watching. Not a whole lot of chanting in that sport.

I’ve never got the appeal of shouting sporting chants on public transport. I get the idea of it, the way it harkens back to ancient times and blood chants before hunts or battle and some such. I even get why people do it at sporting events. There’s that sense of community in it and, unless you enlist in the army, a local derby game is the closest the average Joe gets to taking part in a battle.

What I don’t get is the motivation behind shouting “EN-GER-LAND!” loudly and rhythmically on a bus or a train. For one thing, England has two syllables. But I just don’t get what they expect to achieve. They just come across as jackasses who don’t know what is appropriate to do in any given situation. Like making out with your girlfriend during a funeral.

Anyway, little off-topic there.

So they sat between us, drinking and shouting and being boys. I had my headphones in, and could just barely drown them out, but they still halted any plan of complimenting the girl across from me.

She put on some music too, also annoyed by the Neanderthals separating us. Thank god, I thought, because the fact that she didn’t like the lads translated in my mind to her having impeccable taste in everything. We probably loved the same songs, owned the same movies and would enjoy the same restaurants. We were made for each other, thanks to the simple act of putting headphones into ears.

She caught me looking.

I wasn’t staring, oh no. The occasional glance was all it was, and it just so happened we glanced at the same time. I raised my eyebrows, a silent hello. She did the same. At about this time, one of the man-apes shouted something obscene or acted in a childlike manner (I forget which) and I rolled my eyes at it.

It was supposed to say “What an incredibly inarticulate individual. With his low IQ and clumsy physique, I’m surprised he can even dress himself in a morning. People like him are the reason I’m skeptical about the whole theory of ‘Natural Selection’.”

Maybe she got that. Maybe not. Either way, she nodded and mirrored the gesture. Then she smiled.

I never did compliment her on her shoes though. We got off at the same stop and there was a brief moment where I could have, maybe, complimented and ran. But I didn’t, because I’m a chicken.

Perhaps there is an alternative world me that had the nerve and is living in a happy relationship with the girl. Perhaps she even bought him his own pair of nice shoes.

But me, I’m just left with the memory of her smile. And even that is fading. Soon, all I’ll be left with is the word ‘nice’ and her shoes.

They were nice shoes though.

:)

http://iluminuras.deviantart.com/art/nice-shoes-72677333

Muse (Not the Band!)

2008-05-24T23:46:00.001+01:00

What follows has the unfortunate advantage of being true.

In the words of Neil Gaiman, life isn’t ‘story-shaped’. This is all well and good when all you are doing is living it, but becomes a problem when recounting life in a medium such as this. Life just seems to happen and a storyteller finds themselves desperately trying to shoehorn in some kind of rhyme or reason, any kind of conclusion that would give the tale a point for existing. Like some old lady who, upon finishing her puzzle, finds that she is left with two pieces that are blank, so gets her three-year-old granddaughter to colour the space in with crayon.

But life doesn’t have a point, no matter how much you try and hide that fact with childish pictures. Please allow me to leave the story as is, sans meaning, and just accept it as something that happened. If you feel like colouring in the white pieces yourself, go ahead.

It starts at night, at my desk, during a period of writer’s block. I was writing a script for a lesson later that week, possibly the early stages of what would become ‘Tale of Teeth’. Every word I typed was wrong, every line of dialogue clichéd and every action clumsily written. I hated everything I wrote.

This wasn’t a new feeling. It happens every now and then, essentially forcing me to stop writing. I really want to be a perfectionist when I write, so if I don’t feel that it is working, I won’t write. The actual quality of what I’ve written doesn’t matter. In fact, it has often been the case that the stuff I don’t think works ends up being praised the most later down the line.

Anyway.

There are two ways that I use to deal with this problem. The first is to let it air. Leave the room, go for a walk, write something else. Pretty much anything to distract me enough and get me away from the world of the story. The optimum time is a couple of days, but my deadline meant I couldn’t do this.

The second option is to show it to someone, but not to get their opinion on it. I just need someone to say ‘Hey, that’s quite a cool idea’ or ‘I like this bit’. Basically just some hot air to fill my big ego balloon. Petty, maybe. But it works.

However, it was close to one in the morning and I don’t have many friends who would be willing to sit and read something in those early hours just for the purpose of a writer’s block-ending ego boost.

So I saved it, close my computer down and retired to bed. I’ll get up early and do it, I thought, rather earnestly because it’s often the case that I NEVER get up early and do stuff.

I laid my head down on my pillow and closed my eyes. This is when things got odd.

A girl was standing there, in my mind. Everything else was white, like that scene in ‘The Matrix’ just before he asks for “Guns. Lots of guns.” Part of me wishes I had the dream sense to make that request, but hindsight sucks.

She was gorgeous, this girl. Jet black hair that fell down past her shoulders, dark and soulful eyes, and a whisper of a smile on her lips. She wore a thin black dress, simple but elegant.

Here’s the thing though: she was just there. Dreams form in your mind, the people and the location taking shape as if your brain is painting in the details. This girl wasn’t like that. It was as if she was there all along, just waiting for me to close my eyes.

It felt like I knew her, and I began to walk closer. It felt like the natural thing to do and I was caught in her eyes. When we were close enough, I kissed her. It felt incredible, as it should since it was in my mind. My body, although incorporeal, buzzed with energy as she moved her body close to mine.

Then I woke up.

I had only been ‘asleep’ for less than an hour, but the energy from the dream filled my waking life as well. Ideas and words and snippets of dialogue filled my head, fighting and bustling for attention. I couldn’t keep up.

The computer went back on. The file was loaded. I wrote. For hours.

Remember that it was already two in the morning, but I kept writing all night, until a sunrise told me that it was time to shower and enter the outside world.

Like I’ve already said, there is no ending to the story, no satisfying point to make. I’ve never seen the muse girl again. I forget the script, so I can’t even say if that ended up being my ticket to fame and fortune or just sits incomplete on my hard drive.

Life isn’t ‘story shaped’.

Sorry.

:D

http://evileherbivore.deviantart.com/art/Vampiric-Recitation-of-Yeats-8623893

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skulls

2008-05-23T22:26:00.001+01:00

*CONTAINS SPOILERS*

Okay, so this was originally going to be a 'Five on Friday' thing about sequels that should never have happened. I spent three days writing the thing, but when I click 'publish' the whole thing deletes itself.

Well, not everything. The first entry (and a little bit of the second) remained and so I keep it here so I can actually post something finally.

My review of the new Indiana Jones film:

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skulls

Okay, let me say this first: I wanted to like this film. It was Indiana Freakin' Jones, back for one final crack of his whip! Sure, the critics weren't saying the nicest things, but what do they know? They liked 'Lost in Translation'. So, screw the critics I said, as I walked proudly into the cinema screen. I would like this film.

A second point before I begin to talk about the film: I don't often not like films, even bad ones, and I never feel like walking out of a cinema. So understand how important it is that I wanted to walk out of this film.

I can't believe that after several scripts were rejected, that this was the one finally chosen. We open on some kids in a car who have no point of being in the story. This is all followed by a lengthy dialogue scene in which lots of pointless exposition is given. As for movie openings, this is the lamest in a long time.

It is followed shortly by Indiana Jone surviving a nuclear explosion in a fridge. You heard me, a fridge! Then, the janitor from Scrubs appears as an FBI agent and tells Mr. Jones that they are keeping an eye on him.

I describe all of this because out of this first fifteen minutes, about one minute comes back to be relevant later in the film. The FBI don't keep an eye on him. All they do is make him lose his job, which is another exercise in pointlessness because it has NOTHING to do with the story.

Indiana Jones is set up to be an old man at the beginning, and any sane person would believe that this was going to come back later, that he fails in doing something because of his age. But it doesn't. In fact, he hardly does anything. He wins the day at the end by running away!

Cate Blanchett also does absolutely nothing as a villain either. Occasionally you'll hear a gun cock and then she'll be there with her gun pointed at our heroes. In fact, too often this happens. But she's set up as an expert sword fighter, and can't beat a high-school drop out in a fight. She's set up as psychic, as far as I can understand it, and this doesn't come back either. She doesn't even kill anybody!

Ray Winstone's character is a mess of motivation. So he wants gold, has gold, but still betrays his friend?! It just felt like they wanted a token twist towards the end.

The whole film is too stop-start, and spent so many scenes explaining what must be the most complicated McGuffin ever. Every time I was getting excited about an entertaining action scene (and they were quite good) they stop and talk about the mystery of the crystal skulls in so much detail that I started to doze off.

The only reason they do this is to try and ground the crystal skulls into some kind of reality, so when the secret is revealed, we might believe it. Turns out, the crystal skull is part of an alien skeleton. That's right, an ALIEN SKULL! Not just any alien, but the most generic alien ever designed.

I wanted to walk out after the fridge bit. Then, I wanted to walk out after the gang fell down three waterfalls and lived. But when the film ends with a flying saucer taking off, they must be joking right?!

Seriously, this film is a mess of failed attempts to bring back old moments from the previous film and plot points that don't go anywhere. Why was Mutt so attached to his bike, but forgot it later? Why show him as a good knifeman, then fail to bring it back again? Did age affect anything Harrison Ford did? And what exactly did looking into the skull actually do to Indiana Jones?

This had the potential to be an awesome film, and failed on a spectacular level. Yeah, maybe tomorrow I will have mellowed and will find the good points. I'll point out that Shia Le Beof was pretty damn cool, and that there were some awesome action scenes. Also, monkeys get to save the day, and who doesn't like monkeys?

But right now, I'm just plain annoyed that this film exists at all. And from Speilberg, no less. You should be ashamed Steven. Ashamed!

Not Everybody

2008-05-22T02:04:00.003+01:00

Waitrose has unveiled a new advertising campaign: 'Everyone deserves quality food'.

This is a lie.

What about Hitler?

Fifty-Five Pence

2008-05-21T22:45:00.003+01:00

"That's £4.05 then." said the train conductor lady, and I had the correct amount ready. It's what happens when you ride the same route every day.

"Oh wait..."

I stop passing the money over, expectant.

"It's £4.60 before nine."

I'm sorry, what?! Why is riding the train earlier in the day more expensive? I'm travelling the same distance, taking up the same amount of space. Why am I paying more? If anything, more people travel in the morning so the costs should lessen.

Perhaps that fifty-five pence is compensation for having to work mornings. If so, I'm missing a trick. Tomorrow I'll be speaking to my boss about a raise in my morning hours. After all, I could be sleeping.

But it's not like a ticket collector is the most taxing of jobs. You just walk up the train with a machine around your neck, saying "Tickets?" every now and then. If people need some, you punch numbers into the machine and it creates them for you. Easy.

They don't seem to be earning that extra 55p either. For my extra pennies, I demand a jig or a cooked breakfast or something. But all of this was left unsaid as I dug a few more coins from my pocket.

Left me feeling annoyed though, and along with a mild hangover and a perpetual dead arm I had a very lame day. There were a few events that mildly cheered me up though. A woman saying she was allergic to pheasant (Possibly a lie, but what an odd and very specific thing to be allergic to). Also, a cute mother/child scene; She (or he. Was a fairly androgynous baby) was shaking her head around like a crazy punk rocker when her mother looked her in the eye and kissed her forehead, calming the kid down. Something I call good parenting. Lame story, but what can I say? I'm a sucker for sentimental moments.

Come 6.30, in a bid to cheer myself up somewhat, I went to buy the latest issue of my magazine. At the stand, I checked by change. I was, irony of ironies, 55 pence short.

PS: The last part sadly isn't true. I was only twenty pence short.

This is one of the reasons that I can't believe in a higher power. Even an amateur writer (i.e. me) can see the perfect ending to the story. If a God isn't paying attention to today, what should make me think he's paying attention if I steal or sleep with the neighbour's wife.

http://sammytournesal.deviantart.com/art/loose-change-62448293

Work, Via Poetry

2008-05-20T01:31:00.001+01:00

Clock in,

Work,

Eat,

Work,

Clock out,

Sleep.

Wake, clock in, work, eat, work, clock out,

Sleep.

Clock in,

Work, work, work, work, work,

Clock out,

Sleep.

Clock in, clock out,

Sleep.

Buy gun,

Shoot yourself,

Clock out.

http://bj03.deviantart.com/art/Bored-75370118

Forward Russia

2008-05-18T01:48:00.000+01:00

A music video for the song 'Don't Reinvent What You Don't Understand' by Forward Russia. The song sucks, but the music video is pretty funky. Also, it has me running around a maze. What more can you want?

This was a three day shoot, two weeks ago. I was ill for the entire shoot, and kept having to leave he studio to breathe real air. Was fun though. And I'm really impressed at how a bunch of about fifteen sets turned out looking like a real maze.

Oh, and ignore the hair. I was going to get it cut on the first day, but once I didn't manage that I had to keep the same hair for the next two.

:D

Typical Hollywood

2008-05-17T17:21:00.000+01:00

Why can't Hollywood just leave something good alone?!

Geez!

:P

Tale of Teeth

2008-05-16T23:08:00.002+01:00

I've spoken about it, shown photos and a 'making of' and discussed the successful first screening.

Now, I have the pleasure to introduce you all to 'Tale of Teeth', written by Chris Sutcliffe (i.e. me!)

Enjoy!

:D