Blah blahblahblahblah. Blah blah blah, blah!? Blahblah blah blah blah. Blah blahblahblah, blah blah blah blahblah, blah blah blahblah blah blahblah - BLAH BLAH BLAHBLAH BLAHBLAH!!!
Blah. Blah blahblah blah blah blahblahblah-blahblah blahblah, blah blah blah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah!!!
Blah blahblah blah blah blahblahblahblahblahblahblah blah, blahblah blah blah blah blah blah blah.
Blah blah, Blah.
Wednesday 31 October 2007
Monday 29 October 2007
Poxes on Voxes.
Yesterday... well, I say yesterday, twas more like yesterevening, or maybe even yesternight, I was sat in my college foyer using the internets, when a girl walked past the open doors with a couple of friends, pointed at me and said "that guy's been there all year!"
That really pissed me off, firstly because unwarrented hyperbole makes me just about as angry as anything could ever EVER be (I have in fact, only been in that spot for a tiny fraction of the year), but secondly because of the way she said it, with such blatant condescension, I considered shouting back, pointing out to her her error, but that would merely appear playful, and wouldn't accurately represent how personally offended I was, then I considered running out after her and punching her in the back of the head, but alas, I'm lazy, that would probably be overkill and I think hitting girls is banned under the Geneva Convention.
But still, I was pretty dang angry. And she had one of those annoying-as-scat voices that are all like, 'meh meh meh MEHMEH', like the kind of voices 11-year old girls use when they want to sound smart.
In fact, moving away from Specificality, and in the the Realm of Generalness, (the Realm of Generalness, of course, is governed via military junta *ba dum dum tiiish!*), I basically don't like most voices. Basically. In fact, I'd like you all to consider, that if I've never complemented you on your voice, then chances are, I secretly hate it. THAT'S THE WAY I AM! I secretly hate things all the time! Wahey!
Um, bye.
That really pissed me off, firstly because unwarrented hyperbole makes me just about as angry as anything could ever EVER be (I have in fact, only been in that spot for a tiny fraction of the year), but secondly because of the way she said it, with such blatant condescension, I considered shouting back, pointing out to her her error, but that would merely appear playful, and wouldn't accurately represent how personally offended I was, then I considered running out after her and punching her in the back of the head, but alas, I'm lazy, that would probably be overkill and I think hitting girls is banned under the Geneva Convention.
But still, I was pretty dang angry. And she had one of those annoying-as-scat voices that are all like, 'meh meh meh MEHMEH', like the kind of voices 11-year old girls use when they want to sound smart.
In fact, moving away from Specificality, and in the the Realm of Generalness, (the Realm of Generalness, of course, is governed via military junta *ba dum dum tiiish!*), I basically don't like most voices. Basically. In fact, I'd like you all to consider, that if I've never complemented you on your voice, then chances are, I secretly hate it. THAT'S THE WAY I AM! I secretly hate things all the time! Wahey!
Um, bye.
Friday 26 October 2007
The Subconscious is a Cruel Mistress...
My subconscious has come up with a brand new trick to taunt me.
Basically, towards the end of my REM sleep cycle, it will start playing a dream - quite a boring dream really, quite uneventful. Essentially, I will be sitting around just hanging out with someone, like... sittin' around, chillin', having a good old chin-wag, etc...
Then I wake up and think, 'ahh, good work Sub-C, I'll go send that person a facebook message and maybe go for a drink or two', and then I realise that THE PERSON DOESN'T EXIST! So yeah, thanks subconscious, thanks for taunting me with the great experience of hanging out and listening to the latest Vandals album in Wolverhampton (or maybe Preston) with Elizabeth Hsieng Fu, (this morning's guest)... Mumble grumble anger etc.
Whilst on the subject of waking up, do you ever get it where you wake up with an alarm, but that you're so tired that you're completely unable to understand what the alarm even means? Like, yesterday, my alarm went off, and instead of thinking 'oh, that's my phone, time to wake up', I actually thought, 'oh, that's my robot, telling me that my bacon eggs have hatched.'
BACON EGGS!? I mean whatthefuck? I was trying to think about what that could have possibly meant later on, and I eventually came up with the idea of an egg-borne animal that perfectly ressembles a rasher of bacon. And with that thought, I will leave you.
Basically, towards the end of my REM sleep cycle, it will start playing a dream - quite a boring dream really, quite uneventful. Essentially, I will be sitting around just hanging out with someone, like... sittin' around, chillin', having a good old chin-wag, etc...
Then I wake up and think, 'ahh, good work Sub-C, I'll go send that person a facebook message and maybe go for a drink or two', and then I realise that THE PERSON DOESN'T EXIST! So yeah, thanks subconscious, thanks for taunting me with the great experience of hanging out and listening to the latest Vandals album in Wolverhampton (or maybe Preston) with Elizabeth Hsieng Fu, (this morning's guest)... Mumble grumble anger etc.
Whilst on the subject of waking up, do you ever get it where you wake up with an alarm, but that you're so tired that you're completely unable to understand what the alarm even means? Like, yesterday, my alarm went off, and instead of thinking 'oh, that's my phone, time to wake up', I actually thought, 'oh, that's my robot, telling me that my bacon eggs have hatched.'
BACON EGGS!? I mean whatthefuck? I was trying to think about what that could have possibly meant later on, and I eventually came up with the idea of an egg-borne animal that perfectly ressembles a rasher of bacon. And with that thought, I will leave you.
Thursday 25 October 2007
Canalyse This! (and, its less successful sequel, Canalyse That)
Today has really been like two days. 'What!? Shut up Tom!' I hear you say! But no, I am not mad, nor am I enumerate! What I mean is that I didn't go to bed untill around noon, meaning that I had two separate 'day'-like entities today.
The first started yesterday, and continued, for wont of my better judgement into today as I decided that the best way to assure that I will be able to get to my early 9am lecture would be to stay up all night, and instead take it as a very late lecture. So I stayed up all night watching BBC4, (Charlie Brooker was on, as was a really fun documentary double bill about motorways, more on that later!). Of course, anyone who has ever tried to stay up all night will know that it is very stupid and boring, by far the most stupid-and-boring part of last night was when my housemate came home with a big, fat, stupid woman, and I'm not just defaming womankind, (or wymymkind, as retards with no knowledge of the English language may say), this woman was actually big, fat, and stupid. She started talking to me in retarded phrasebook Greek, FOR NO REASON!
It was at that point that I made a decision, instead of sitting around my stupid shitty ghey-ass cockfostering house, I would go on a long leisurely walk to Uni. Upon inspection of my A-Z, (again, more on that later!), I discovered that the canal that runs near my house actually makes a sharp right angle turn southward and skims right next to the Lancaster University campus, 'great!', thought I, nice, flat, duckful walking.
So yeah, blah blah blah, walked along a canal, got lost, found a few abandoned houses that could perhaps serve as squats, got lost again, and eventually got to Uni. Only to sit through the worst lecture imaginable! The guy's name is Mark, and he has the political awareness of a GCSE student, and he spends hours at a time rambling on about anti-Bush conspiracy theories and how the US Government "is controlled by Israeli money", *cou-anti-Semite-ugh!* And he just lies. He stands there and tells mistruths, like, today, he said that Bush's administration denies the existance of man-made climate change, which is total bullshit, as a large chunk of the 2007 State of the Union address covered the crisis of climate change - so either this man is completely fucking incompetent, in that, as a man whose job it is to lecture politics does not even have the slightest clue about the POTUS' recent sayings-on, OR, he deliberately lied, in an attempt to manipulate the opinions of this nations youth.
In either case, I'm sleeping through his lectures from now on.
Another canal story, I while back I walked down Manchester's infamous Canal Street at night. Weirdly enough, despite the fact that I am a card-carrying bisexual, (at least, I would be, if I hadn't dropped said card), the thought of men wanting to have sex with me quite terrifies me. As it so happens, so does the thought of women wanting to have sex with me... but that is a much more abstract fear, *failed attempt at self-depricating humour'd!*
Anyway, NOW FOR THE LATER BIT, I urge Cassy, if she's reading, to read this next bit extra hard.
Last night I was watching a documentary about the British motorway system. It revealed that there was a whole hidden world beneath the humble service station. While to us, sane people, it may appear to be the worst conceivable place - back in the day, it was considered to be the pôshest of pôssible plôces, *ahem*, places. Like, if you've ever been to a service station restaurant to find an unusually large concentration of folk who were young in the 50s, and naturally assumed that they were on a long journey and got hungry, YOU WOULD BE WRONG! It turns out, that mostly, the entire point of their journey was to go eat at a service station restaurant!!! Sigh... there are huge sections of this British nation's people who I suspect I will never be able to understand...
Anyway, another thing said documentary discussed was the role of hitch-hiking in 1970s motorway culture. And while I've always thought hitch-hiking was kinda cool, this doc' left me thinking that hitch-hiking was very cool! And so, I scurried around for my A-Z, (discovered the route of the Lancaster Canal), and found that the M6 runs remarkably close to where I live, and so, CASSY, when I come to visit you in Sheffield, I have decided that I will hitch-hike there!!!
So yeah, looks like I'm have to going to practice on holding the kind of conversation that will ingratiate me with truckers...
The first started yesterday, and continued, for wont of my better judgement into today as I decided that the best way to assure that I will be able to get to my early 9am lecture would be to stay up all night, and instead take it as a very late lecture. So I stayed up all night watching BBC4, (Charlie Brooker was on, as was a really fun documentary double bill about motorways, more on that later!). Of course, anyone who has ever tried to stay up all night will know that it is very stupid and boring, by far the most stupid-and-boring part of last night was when my housemate came home with a big, fat, stupid woman, and I'm not just defaming womankind, (or wymymkind, as retards with no knowledge of the English language may say), this woman was actually big, fat, and stupid. She started talking to me in retarded phrasebook Greek, FOR NO REASON!
It was at that point that I made a decision, instead of sitting around my stupid shitty ghey-ass cockfostering house, I would go on a long leisurely walk to Uni. Upon inspection of my A-Z, (again, more on that later!), I discovered that the canal that runs near my house actually makes a sharp right angle turn southward and skims right next to the Lancaster University campus, 'great!', thought I, nice, flat, duckful walking.
So yeah, blah blah blah, walked along a canal, got lost, found a few abandoned houses that could perhaps serve as squats, got lost again, and eventually got to Uni. Only to sit through the worst lecture imaginable! The guy's name is Mark, and he has the political awareness of a GCSE student, and he spends hours at a time rambling on about anti-Bush conspiracy theories and how the US Government "is controlled by Israeli money", *cou-anti-Semite-ugh!* And he just lies. He stands there and tells mistruths, like, today, he said that Bush's administration denies the existance of man-made climate change, which is total bullshit, as a large chunk of the 2007 State of the Union address covered the crisis of climate change - so either this man is completely fucking incompetent, in that, as a man whose job it is to lecture politics does not even have the slightest clue about the POTUS' recent sayings-on, OR, he deliberately lied, in an attempt to manipulate the opinions of this nations youth.
In either case, I'm sleeping through his lectures from now on.
Another canal story, I while back I walked down Manchester's infamous Canal Street at night. Weirdly enough, despite the fact that I am a card-carrying bisexual, (at least, I would be, if I hadn't dropped said card), the thought of men wanting to have sex with me quite terrifies me. As it so happens, so does the thought of women wanting to have sex with me... but that is a much more abstract fear, *failed attempt at self-depricating humour'd!*
Anyway, NOW FOR THE LATER BIT, I urge Cassy, if she's reading, to read this next bit extra hard.
Last night I was watching a documentary about the British motorway system. It revealed that there was a whole hidden world beneath the humble service station. While to us, sane people, it may appear to be the worst conceivable place - back in the day, it was considered to be the pôshest of pôssible plôces, *ahem*, places. Like, if you've ever been to a service station restaurant to find an unusually large concentration of folk who were young in the 50s, and naturally assumed that they were on a long journey and got hungry, YOU WOULD BE WRONG! It turns out, that mostly, the entire point of their journey was to go eat at a service station restaurant!!! Sigh... there are huge sections of this British nation's people who I suspect I will never be able to understand...
Anyway, another thing said documentary discussed was the role of hitch-hiking in 1970s motorway culture. And while I've always thought hitch-hiking was kinda cool, this doc' left me thinking that hitch-hiking was very cool! And so, I scurried around for my A-Z, (discovered the route of the Lancaster Canal), and found that the M6 runs remarkably close to where I live, and so, CASSY, when I come to visit you in Sheffield, I have decided that I will hitch-hike there!!!
So yeah, looks like I'm have to going to practice on holding the kind of conversation that will ingratiate me with truckers...
Tuesday 23 October 2007
HairbRUSH!!!
T'other day I was in Manchester.
More specifically, I was in a Superdrug in Manchester, and I decided that I should buy a hairbrush, "no longer shall your hair control you, Tom!" I said to myself, "from henceforth, you will own a hairbrush, and every day you shall use it to sculpt your hair into a form that best appeases YOU!" So then I bought a hairbrush, and I used it for a few days. Then I decided I should reflect upon this... event with a blog entry.
The worst part of brushing one's hair is, without doubt, the beginning of brushing one's hair - when you first touch brush to hair and the whole experience is a distressing concert of hair-pulling and that-kind-of-pain-that-is-quite-painful-but-not-quite-painful-enough-to-justify-you-saying-'ow', after that however, you get into what I have affectionately, and rather perversely called, the 'glory zone', that's the part when the hair just flows the brush and obeys your every command.
Its kind of like an authoritarian society, he said politics-student-iously, whereby once you have crushed the citizens of their will to dissent, they then swiftly submit to your will... untill you then push it to far and they rebel and hang you naked from a streetlight in central Rome, but, I don't think that applies to hairstyling, at least, I HOPE that doesn't apply to hairstyling.
But yeah, since that day, I've enjoyed fluffing my hair up, brushing it down, fluffing it down and brushing it up - and so all is well! Hooray!
This is my blog for now, I promise the next one will be less braindead and effeminate.
More specifically, I was in a Superdrug in Manchester, and I decided that I should buy a hairbrush, "no longer shall your hair control you, Tom!" I said to myself, "from henceforth, you will own a hairbrush, and every day you shall use it to sculpt your hair into a form that best appeases YOU!" So then I bought a hairbrush, and I used it for a few days. Then I decided I should reflect upon this... event with a blog entry.
The worst part of brushing one's hair is, without doubt, the beginning of brushing one's hair - when you first touch brush to hair and the whole experience is a distressing concert of hair-pulling and that-kind-of-pain-that-is-quite-painful-but-not-quite-painful-enough-to-justify-you-saying-'ow', after that however, you get into what I have affectionately, and rather perversely called, the 'glory zone', that's the part when the hair just flows the brush and obeys your every command.
Its kind of like an authoritarian society, he said politics-student-iously, whereby once you have crushed the citizens of their will to dissent, they then swiftly submit to your will... untill you then push it to far and they rebel and hang you naked from a streetlight in central Rome, but, I don't think that applies to hairstyling, at least, I HOPE that doesn't apply to hairstyling.
But yeah, since that day, I've enjoyed fluffing my hair up, brushing it down, fluffing it down and brushing it up - and so all is well! Hooray!
This is my blog for now, I promise the next one will be less braindead and effeminate.
Monday 15 October 2007
Events and happenings, all about the place!
Last night I watched 'the Number 23' and 'the Last King of Scotland'. I enjoyed them both.
If ever anyone were to ask me for a piece of wisdom, I would tell them this: 'you will feel much more fulfilled if you learn to accept that a decent wedge of the world's population find your existance utterly offencive.' Once you've got this sorted out in your head, the urge to please everyone all the time quickly dissipates, and you're left with a more common sense approach to life. This particularly works in regards to trying to convince... people of... things. A lot of people think that there is one answer out there that, if repeated and forced enough, will please everybody - there isn't, so please stop trying. For instance, I find the belief that there exists a God who is utterly transcendental, and greater than any human being, utterly offencive, and, for lack of a better word, sacreligious. But I also recognise that many people will think exactly the same thing of what I just said. So y'know, to state the obvious, tolerance is the key.
In this light of respecting one's innate disagreeability, I am going to make a definitive statement: soup should be made from meat. A vegetarian soup is not a soup, its just... not... soup.
Also, I made'd a comic, I reckon I'll upload it!
Sigh. Okay, the reason I don't like making comics is that while I may be confident enough with my ability to draw while doodling, when what you draw will be there from when you draw untill when you leave it alone - its then when you have to make a comic out of it, when you have to rule out all the frames, and plan the positions and place in the text and then ink it and scan and attempt to do some kind of weird image-fiddling ritual to darken up the lines, etc. etc. after all that your sense of scrutiny starts to overload and by the time you've finished the piece you're looking at it thinking... 'What a piece of shit. That doesn't deserve to whipe an arse, yet alone grace the internets."
I don't know, maybe practice helps. But practice is still doing, and doing isn't fun.
Anyway, bye.
If ever anyone were to ask me for a piece of wisdom, I would tell them this: 'you will feel much more fulfilled if you learn to accept that a decent wedge of the world's population find your existance utterly offencive.' Once you've got this sorted out in your head, the urge to please everyone all the time quickly dissipates, and you're left with a more common sense approach to life. This particularly works in regards to trying to convince... people of... things. A lot of people think that there is one answer out there that, if repeated and forced enough, will please everybody - there isn't, so please stop trying. For instance, I find the belief that there exists a God who is utterly transcendental, and greater than any human being, utterly offencive, and, for lack of a better word, sacreligious. But I also recognise that many people will think exactly the same thing of what I just said. So y'know, to state the obvious, tolerance is the key.
In this light of respecting one's innate disagreeability, I am going to make a definitive statement: soup should be made from meat. A vegetarian soup is not a soup, its just... not... soup.
Also, I made'd a comic, I reckon I'll upload it!
Sigh. Okay, the reason I don't like making comics is that while I may be confident enough with my ability to draw while doodling, when what you draw will be there from when you draw untill when you leave it alone - its then when you have to make a comic out of it, when you have to rule out all the frames, and plan the positions and place in the text and then ink it and scan and attempt to do some kind of weird image-fiddling ritual to darken up the lines, etc. etc. after all that your sense of scrutiny starts to overload and by the time you've finished the piece you're looking at it thinking... 'What a piece of shit. That doesn't deserve to whipe an arse, yet alone grace the internets."
I don't know, maybe practice helps. But practice is still doing, and doing isn't fun.
Anyway, bye.
Saturday 13 October 2007
Of Muggles and Mujahideen...
Man! I am exhausted.
I decided to take that long epic walk from Lancaster Town to Lancaster University, and, as I mentioned, its epic. But I didn't just take that walk for my health! Oh no! Anyone who does anything for their health is goram fool! No, I took the hour-long walk so I could have a bath - regrettably, after nearly three weeks of living in my house I still can't work the boiler for shit, (same goes for the oven, the doors and even the floors, I CANNOT WORK THE FLOOR!). So yeah, walking for miles just for water... I'm kind of like an African. But fatter. And God hasn't cursed my existence.
Moving on! Imagine now, dear readers, that I am taking out my hypothetical list of things to show hypothetical visitors to Lancaster. I am adding now, to this list, the wee village of Scotforth. Its about half a mile north of the University and its very pretty, there's one tiny road leading through it, which is all rusticky and less-travelled, and all the houses are beautiful. And there are bunnies running around everywhere and a stream runs the whole thing. When I was in Scotforth, AND ONLY WHEN I WAS IN SCOTFORTH (I must emphasise), I was actually able to understand why some losers people spend their entire adult lives obsessing about house prices.
Anyway, on to the main impetus of this blog! This portion of the blog is going to be of a somewhat... reviewy nature.
Firstestly, I finally read the latest Harry Potter. And y'know what, I quite liked it. It marched its way along with an exciting little mystery, and (cliché alert), it seemed more grown-up than the other books - but yes, I know, that's what everyone has said about each book since the original... but in this one, its less glaringly obvious that the main characters are children (which, as a 20-year old, I am now perfectly entitled to call 17-year olds, so, na-dee-na-dee-na-na!). However, to put my opinion into context, I hardly remember anything of any of the other books, so whadda I know, eh!?
But yeah, good book, made me go "OOH!" at one point, made me quite tense at the bit near the end when it seemed that Harry was going to die, (society at large however, already gave me the impression that Harry would survive, but still...). All in all actually, I was quite impressed with my own ability over the last couple of months of avoiding spoilers, I mean, it was difficult at the start, but after a while, people started to assume that anyone who cared about the book would have already read it by now, GUESS I PROVED THEM WRONG!
One thing I didn't like though, like, really didn't like, was the ending and the epilogue. Basically, to synopsise, JK epilogues up the whole thing by saying "and then, nothing at all interesting happened for several decades, the characters all wound up marrying the people they were with by the end of this book (no matter how retarded these relationships may seem), no adventures every happened to anyone else, ever again... so you bastards can't ever expect me to write another fucking book! Ha. Ha. Ha!" Which was really just mean of her. I mean, a LOT of people dedicated a significant part of their lives to the HP series, and would have quite liked for it to remain open ended, and for them to put their dorky little imaginations into gear and imagine what happened next!!! But nope. JK Rowling shattered their dreams, which is... just... mean.
SECOND REVIEW!!!
Last night I went to go see 'The Kingdom'. It was really good. The opening credits were like a brief li'l documentary about Saudi Arabia's relations with the West and its own people, which let you know from the start that yes, this film was going to be explodey and bloodthirsty, but it would also educational! Exploducational!!!
Basically, some terr'rists blow up a Western compound outside Riyadh, like, really blow it up, I remember watching it thinking, 'okay, yeah, that's pretty blown up but surely they can't blow it up even mo-- OH GOD THEY BLEW IT UP SOME MORE!', and the CIA wants to go 'vestigate, but, as any layman knows!, the Saudi government rules via a very inflexible understanding with its population of bat-shit insane extremists that while the government needs American force to secure the supply of oil, and thus secure the status of the Kingdom geopolitically, that Western Infidels are incredibly unwelcome, and that their presence should be kept to a minimum. BUT THAT DOESN'T STOP THE HERMAPHRODITICALLY-NAMED JAMIE FOXX, oh no, him and his team sneak into the country and befriend a friendly Arab.
Then, much like Harry, Ron and Hermione, they wander around the mysterious hidden world in hopes of solving their own little mystery. And then they do, and then they decide to go home, BUT THEN IT GETS REALLY ACTIONNY! I was literally on the edge of my seat! Okay.. technically it was the back edge of my seat, but I was still rather excited.
So yeah, 'The Kingdom' gets a...
I decided to take that long epic walk from Lancaster Town to Lancaster University, and, as I mentioned, its epic. But I didn't just take that walk for my health! Oh no! Anyone who does anything for their health is goram fool! No, I took the hour-long walk so I could have a bath - regrettably, after nearly three weeks of living in my house I still can't work the boiler for shit, (same goes for the oven, the doors and even the floors, I CANNOT WORK THE FLOOR!). So yeah, walking for miles just for water... I'm kind of like an African. But fatter. And God hasn't cursed my existence.
Moving on! Imagine now, dear readers, that I am taking out my hypothetical list of things to show hypothetical visitors to Lancaster. I am adding now, to this list, the wee village of Scotforth. Its about half a mile north of the University and its very pretty, there's one tiny road leading through it, which is all rusticky and less-travelled, and all the houses are beautiful. And there are bunnies running around everywhere and a stream runs the whole thing. When I was in Scotforth, AND ONLY WHEN I WAS IN SCOTFORTH (I must emphasise), I was actually able to understand why some losers people spend their entire adult lives obsessing about house prices.
Anyway, on to the main impetus of this blog! This portion of the blog is going to be of a somewhat... reviewy nature.
Firstestly, I finally read the latest Harry Potter. And y'know what, I quite liked it. It marched its way along with an exciting little mystery, and (cliché alert), it seemed more grown-up than the other books - but yes, I know, that's what everyone has said about each book since the original... but in this one, its less glaringly obvious that the main characters are children (which, as a 20-year old, I am now perfectly entitled to call 17-year olds, so, na-dee-na-dee-na-na!). However, to put my opinion into context, I hardly remember anything of any of the other books, so whadda I know, eh!?
But yeah, good book, made me go "OOH!" at one point, made me quite tense at the bit near the end when it seemed that Harry was going to die, (society at large however, already gave me the impression that Harry would survive, but still...). All in all actually, I was quite impressed with my own ability over the last couple of months of avoiding spoilers, I mean, it was difficult at the start, but after a while, people started to assume that anyone who cared about the book would have already read it by now, GUESS I PROVED THEM WRONG!
One thing I didn't like though, like, really didn't like, was the ending and the epilogue. Basically, to synopsise, JK epilogues up the whole thing by saying "and then, nothing at all interesting happened for several decades, the characters all wound up marrying the people they were with by the end of this book (no matter how retarded these relationships may seem), no adventures every happened to anyone else, ever again... so you bastards can't ever expect me to write another fucking book! Ha. Ha. Ha!" Which was really just mean of her. I mean, a LOT of people dedicated a significant part of their lives to the HP series, and would have quite liked for it to remain open ended, and for them to put their dorky little imaginations into gear and imagine what happened next!!! But nope. JK Rowling shattered their dreams, which is... just... mean.
SECOND REVIEW!!!
Last night I went to go see 'The Kingdom'. It was really good. The opening credits were like a brief li'l documentary about Saudi Arabia's relations with the West and its own people, which let you know from the start that yes, this film was going to be explodey and bloodthirsty, but it would also educational! Exploducational!!!
Basically, some terr'rists blow up a Western compound outside Riyadh, like, really blow it up, I remember watching it thinking, 'okay, yeah, that's pretty blown up but surely they can't blow it up even mo-- OH GOD THEY BLEW IT UP SOME MORE!', and the CIA wants to go 'vestigate, but, as any layman knows!, the Saudi government rules via a very inflexible understanding with its population of bat-shit insane extremists that while the government needs American force to secure the supply of oil, and thus secure the status of the Kingdom geopolitically, that Western Infidels are incredibly unwelcome, and that their presence should be kept to a minimum. BUT THAT DOESN'T STOP THE HERMAPHRODITICALLY-NAMED JAMIE FOXX, oh no, him and his team sneak into the country and befriend a friendly Arab.
Then, much like Harry, Ron and Hermione, they wander around the mysterious hidden world in hopes of solving their own little mystery. And then they do, and then they decide to go home, BUT THEN IT GETS REALLY ACTIONNY! I was literally on the edge of my seat! Okay.. technically it was the back edge of my seat, but I was still rather excited.
So yeah, 'The Kingdom' gets a...
... GOOD OUT OF THUMBS!!!
Yay! Woo!
In other news, I forgot to bring a replacement shirt for after walking an hour to get to the bath, so, while as when I first got out I could have passed it off as an intriguing musk, I fear now that I just smell... oh well.
Anyway! I'm in the Liberry, so I should probably find that book I was looking for.
Also wow. This is quite a long blog.
In other news, I forgot to bring a replacement shirt for after walking an hour to get to the bath, so, while as when I first got out I could have passed it off as an intriguing musk, I fear now that I just smell... oh well.
Anyway! I'm in the Liberry, so I should probably find that book I was looking for.
Also wow. This is quite a long blog.
Tuesday 9 October 2007
I am fully in love with the Brothers Chaps
The new sbemail is great.
Everyone should check it out at Homestarrunner.com!
Also, in regards to my recent grumpiness, it turns out that its because i haven't something that rhymes with thanked in a while. But now I have expressed my 'gratitude', and I'm feeling a lot better.
Wednesday 3 October 2007
Returnage
Ever get the feeling that nobody really knows you that well? Ever then get the feeling that that's probably a good thing, 'cos they wouldn't like the real you? These are both bad feelings and I hope you never feel them, but, in all probability, you will.
In reaction to these thoughts, I have decided to force myself back into ye olde blogodrome and make this a little space where people can get a more accurate view of me. Frankness, here I come! Step one: remove all the unnecessary cheerfulness, a lot of the time I'll write a blog without having much to say, and so instead just recount the days events and splash in phrases like, "which was awesome!" and "which I really enjoyed!" and "which scored a solid five stars out of five!" - well enough of those. My usually reaction to things is barely concealed misery, and that's the way I'm going to recount it. Like today, fr'instance, I woke up at ten, found no reason to be awake, tried to defeat a game of solitaire for three and a half hours, moped about how lame I am, walked through the rain and then pretended to be happy to see some people.
Also its raining. Thanks Lancashire, thanks.
Erm... what else... I saw Superbad. Didn't like it. That was, of course, mostly my fault, as I had decided in advance that I didn't want to like it, and when I got to finally see it, the weight of the world had brought me down and I was in no mood for enjoying anything. However, as a slight defence against any possible charge of depressive-loserness, my student newspaper gave it a very bad review, which I agreed with almost word for word: you can't be a touching film about modern adolescence and a gross-out American Pie-esque comedy at the same time.
Also, the subject matter pissed me off. I'm half toying with the idea of avowed celibacy.
Congratulations for reading 'till the end, saiyonara.
In reaction to these thoughts, I have decided to force myself back into ye olde blogodrome and make this a little space where people can get a more accurate view of me. Frankness, here I come! Step one: remove all the unnecessary cheerfulness, a lot of the time I'll write a blog without having much to say, and so instead just recount the days events and splash in phrases like, "which was awesome!" and "which I really enjoyed!" and "which scored a solid five stars out of five!" - well enough of those. My usually reaction to things is barely concealed misery, and that's the way I'm going to recount it. Like today, fr'instance, I woke up at ten, found no reason to be awake, tried to defeat a game of solitaire for three and a half hours, moped about how lame I am, walked through the rain and then pretended to be happy to see some people.
Also its raining. Thanks Lancashire, thanks.
Erm... what else... I saw Superbad. Didn't like it. That was, of course, mostly my fault, as I had decided in advance that I didn't want to like it, and when I got to finally see it, the weight of the world had brought me down and I was in no mood for enjoying anything. However, as a slight defence against any possible charge of depressive-loserness, my student newspaper gave it a very bad review, which I agreed with almost word for word: you can't be a touching film about modern adolescence and a gross-out American Pie-esque comedy at the same time.
Also, the subject matter pissed me off. I'm half toying with the idea of avowed celibacy.
Congratulations for reading 'till the end, saiyonara.
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