Happy christmas

Or is it merry christmas? I suppose it must be, because happy christmas and a happy new year sounds daft.

Well, we have trimmed the tree (it was looking overgrown) and wrapped presents and we have a stock of foods to feed us over the long, cold night when the shops aren't open. Anyway, if it all goes horribly wrong you can usually get a Chinese takeaway. That's what's great about a multicultural society - there's always someone working. Working to feed you!

There are a few festive photos on my flickr profile, which should make you feel jolly. Or possibly merry. No, don't feel merry. That way badness lies.

Anyway. Run along now, go and open presents or something. If you're in Sweden or one of those crazy countries that open their pressies on christmas eve. If you're elsewhere, go to bed! Then open presents. Or, more likely, hello! Happy New Year!

Half my blog entries are apologies for no blog entries

Sorry.

I'm writing like a capering fool at the moment! And reading. I'm reading Bond books! James Bond books. They're pretty aces, and have great covers, too.

I didn't think I'd enjoy them, but, well, I was wrong. They're tough, sparse little thrillers. I'd love to see them made as movies, and that isn't a jokey sentence. I really would like to see them made as they are, hard-boiled and vicious. Bond gets the shit kicked out of him quite regularly. No gadgets. The girls are characters in their own right (and, though he is obviously an arse, he does seem to care for them, in a gruff sort of way). They'd be lovely little films. But no. Big old effects-heavy wink-at-the-camera juggernauts thunder through our cinemas at regular intervals.

Wonder when that happened?

Saints

Done it! Seen The Breeders live! You've no idea how long I've waited for that. But anyway, 'tis done and it was so very good that I'm not sure even italics do the job. So good! Nah, you know, this isn't going to be solved by typefaces.

Damn, it's a long way to Blackheath. I mean, we're not talking the Peak District here, but in London terms it might as well be on Mars. But if they were playing a couple of special gigs on Mars I might make the effort, so there you go. I think there's probably an equation somewhere which goes on about how difficult getting to a gig is being related to how awesome it actually in in the end. I mean, if that's the case then the support band did some good work to making the wait even more unendurable. Imagine, if you will, a guitar solo lasting five minutes. Now imagine a bass solo lasting that long. And a drum solo. With two drummers. Now DOUBLE THE LENGTH OF TIME AND PLAY THEM ALL AT THE SAME TIME. Congratulations, you've imagined one song by the support band. And they were on for forty five fucking minutes! My head was beginning to complain about my impacted ears digging in to it by the time they were done.

.....short wait while roadies test a billion types of guitar......

Then they were there! Lookit! It was, like, The Breeders! Kim and Kelley and some other people that I don't know the names of right there! We were promised the classic Last Splash lineup, but Jim was apparently busy with something - luckily the drummer that was there (who may or may not have been Jose Medeles) was really great so no complaints. Distinct lack of Josephine Wiggs for the first few songs, but when a band comes on and plays No Aloha followed by Little Fury who gives a fuck who's playing as long as Kim Deal is singing? But then, somewhat unexpectedly, the bassist dropped back and in came a very fucked-off Josephine Wiggs. Maybe she'd been caught in traffic, or something. Her mood did not improve for the entire gig despite the onstage levity enjoyed by everyone else. Oh, well, no helping some people.

One person who was definitely enjoying herself was Kelley, who was all smiles and chatter. Her moment of confusion before launching into I Just Wanna Get Along was endearing beyond belief, especially when Kim became very supportive and stroked her arm until she got better - at which point Kelley suddenly realised what was being asked of her and exclaimed "Oh, that one! That one's easy!" And she made it seem so.

A relatively sedate crowd - hey, we're all too old for a proper mosh pit - came alive at points in the show (the aforementioned I Just Wanna Get Along and Little Fury, Divine Hammer, Son of Three, Huffer (complete with "Daaa da da da dada etc" crowd singalong) and, of course, the mighty Cannonball to name a few), bouncing as merrily as our aged knees would allow. But, you know, we weren't so much there for the dancing as the listening. We were a respectful crowd - except for the slightly overfamiliar heckling. Apparently a lot of people love Kim.

A few guest musicians breezed in and out. Josephine Wiggs didn't stay for every song - just as well, 'cause she was harshing everyone's buzz - Carrie Bradley was the anti-Wiggs, so cheery and smiley for her violin parts. A chap who I have ascertained may have been Michael Allen came on and groaned through Oh!, which was entertainingly novel. Sod his real name, henceforth he is "The Groaner". All in all there was a sense of a band having a good time and playing some old favourites (quite a few Pod tracks and I think Amps stuff, too) with the original musicians. Which isn't to say that it was, you know, like you've gone to see the Stones churning out the classics by rote. A lot of crowd-pleasers, but enough leftfield stuff that you felt it was worth being there rather than just putting the albums on REALLY LOUD at home.

Well, only another 10 years before my next gig, then...

img src=

Quite right, too. If I wanted to experience the real world, I'd go outside. My favourite games on my GameCube are Zelda: Wind Waker and Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time. Neither of which look like they are set in a built-up area.

quickly, write stuff!

raaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!

One week to The Breeders. Chances are, you're not going. Hahahaha! Oh, god, I'm sorry. Still, I didn't get to see The Pixies...

God, I haven't been to a gig for years. Do I still need to drink cider?

Phoning it in

Hi folks! I have no reason to be typing this blog entry other than I feel bad if I've not posted for a while.

It was Hallowe'en, as well you know, last Monday. We got trick-or-treaters by the bucketload. Initially our big bowl o' sweeties drew "Oooh"s and "Wow"s from the little extortioners, but by the end it was a bit "Er.. is that it?" *rummage* *rummage*. I was getting worried we'd be reduced to handing out fruit, thus legitimately setting ourselves up as "trick targets". Kids firebomb shit these days, you know.

There are pictures of our pumpkin somewhere on this computer. It'll turn up sometime. It was shit-scary.

Shameless Self-Promoting Attention-Whore

I photoshopped teddy bears into The Shining for a pub quiz picture round. Now go and look at them because I like people looking at stuff I did that I am proud of.

On an unrelated note, two people in my life have bad things going on with the backs of their eyes. One may be far worserer than the other. It's a bit of a weird coincidence.

Kosher salt

Kosher salt! Man, why can't people just say "sea salt" or "rock salt", or whatever it is? I mean, let's not bring Bronze Age culinary guidelines into this.

I'm going to be told that the Torah isn't Bronze Age now. I just know it. Well, I don't care, professor! I'm not in this for book-learnin'!

Closed loop

When is gmail (or, as we must probably call it forthwith, googlemail) going public? I've had a gmail account since forever - being a Blogger has its advantages, no doubt. But it's still invite only. I mean, it's not hard to get an invite - hell, throw a brick and you hit two googlemail invites rushing at you - but it does seem an odd strategy. It presents googlemail as something for those in the know, those in the loop. It's also obvious to those inside that it's anything but. You want a googlemail account? Gimme your normal, boring, standard email address and watch the invites rush in.

So the air of exclusivity gives them cachet from outside, but the apparent lack of it inside devalues the scrabble to get the address. They don't need this, googlemail is good enough without cheap lifestyle tricks.

It should be open, like lesser mail services. Like Hotmail, which was my first email account just at the very second it was bought by Microsoft. I felt like I'd established some presence on the internet - without anyone having to bring me in from the cold, I was an adventurer setting out with 2mb of inbox and an address with a number in it. Google is stifling that frontier spirit with its "Others have it, and only they can give it to you".

Or, you know, maybe they don't want spammers getting googlemail accounts. But if just one spammer gets googlemail, it'll replicate like a virus. So why bother? I can't see a single effective argument for keeping it invite-only. And I can't stand typing googlemail.

Anyway, like I say. You want gmail? Ask. For now.

It's raining in London right now.

I don't know how many of you have been following the wacky japes of Mr Jack Thompson, Attorney at Law. There are so many funderful links I don't know where to start. Well, hell, let's start with his own stuff, the hilariously poor* site stopkill.com (which a quick whois tells me is AVAILABLE TO BUY, so kick that damn squatter out!). And the best links are probably at the bottom of the Wikipedia page, which I don't have to link for you, I'm sure. Currently fighting with Penny Arcade (who are all over the high ground, he's Anakin - they are Obi-Wan), he's also had run-ins with Scott of VG Cats and pretty much anyone who may have once designed, funded, played or even heard of a videogame.

I mean, Sims 2. Fer fuck's sake. If there's a more conservative, family-oriented videogame in the world, I'd like to see it. Yes, they're naked under the blur. So am I. And they have the sex. Again, I think a lot of people do that one, too. But not in so wholesome a manner as the Sims. There's some grinning, a moving blanket and some cuddling. Shocking, I'm sure you'll agree. And as for it being Advance Paedo Simulator - what shite. It's not like you can fuck the kids. You can give them a hearty breakfast and send them off to school, hoping they'll come back with an A+ grade, though. It's a nightmare scenario, I'm sure you'll agree, and one which we need to stop children imitating! Oh, man, I got a bit mixed up with my rhetoric there. Still, eh, so does Jack, so do we all.

Still, credit where due. The batshit crazy bastard sure is entertaining.

* The Google result alone tells you how much effort was put into it, it's symptomatic of his slapdash approach.

How Francis rules my life

I just went to make a cup of coffee - instant coffee, I'm not a snob I can drink it fine - but I went for the coffee pods.

I should point out here that our espresso machine is completely boss. Check it out. Click on "light blue" to see the exact colour we have. I use it whenever possible, it makes gorgeous frothed milk and the coffee is, naturally, fab. But to open a tin of coffee pods when you're boiling a kettle? Maybe that's when you've gone too far down a certain road. Perhaps I should step back, because it's not going to be there all the time. What if I'm on holiday? I don't want to be one of those people who says "Oh, daahhhhlink, I can't possibly drink instant coffee! You must bring me espresso or I shall diiiie". Because punching yourself in the throat hurts.

Woooooooooooo-ooooooo...

genuineghost
Originally uploaded by RandomMoth.

This is a GENUINE GHOST that is VERY SCARY and should make you CRAP YOURSELF SILLY.

I heart the inter-net.

Ahem

I was just waiting for the appropriate amount of time to make the previous post that much more ironic.

Hey hey! I'm posting this from work, just round the corner from my desk. They installed a couple of terminals so we can slope off and surf the net more conveniently and not have to tramp downstairs and waste more time than if we just had the net at our desks like reasonable humans. Still, meh and pah. The one weird thing is that the keyboards are about the size of a postage stamp. If my posts are littered with typos and stray punctuation it's because I'm here and not at a normal computer. Sorry about that. Still, hello! Posting from work!

Sweeet.

Regular readers may have been able to work out that it was the third anniversary of Moth 'n' Flapjack last week. Or not. But it needed saying. THREE YEARS! That's a long time. Not in the grand scheme of things, but the longest relationship I've ever been in. And hurrah for that.

Update: We're watching..

Okay, so Thomas has just moved to Blogger and his link is now fixed ->

Because I don't do it because I think no-one's watching, here's a spur-you-on list of people in my links who haven't updated in ages. C'mon! I need updates!:

Kemi: July 14th
Mein Host: May 31st, but he's been updating flickr so That's All Right.
Corinne: July 7th
Marv: May 8th
And the big shock? Adara's blog has vanished. Like an old oak table.

The Bournemouth Supremacy

I don't know if I have that much to say about this weekend's jaunt to Bournemouth, but when you've got a cracker of a post title like that you don't keep it to yourself.

Um. Well, Flppy's Mum invited us and so off we went on the coach and it was a hot day. Bournemouth is a proper seaside town, not your trendy Brighton-type place or your seedy, broken-down Blackpool. It's like a 1950s postcard only current. A family resort, where you feel quite happy munching an ice-cream and paddling with your trousers rolled up without once thinking "Oh, is that clubby guy over there judging me? Are the natives even now loading up on alcopops and preparing to happy-slap me?". I ate candy floss, dammit, and walked up a pier (50p to go on the pier! A scandal!). It was nice. And I think I may be slightly browner. Not a lot, but a touch, a shade.

Lost

Hurrah, it's the obligatory Lost blog post.

Up to episode four now and I - like the rest of you - have no fucking idea. Hobbits! Yay! And mysterious pasts for everyone! And a Polar Bear? Sure. Why not? Polar bears live on tropical islands, right? And some kind of big metaphor skulking around pushing trees over and eating pilots.

Still, the important thing is that I'm watching and therefore am involved in communal telly experience. No, wait! It's because it's good. I'm actually properly hooked, in... maybe a new Dr Who kinda way. Definitely not a Buffy-style hookage, that was one of those moments when you know a show is built for you. I.. honestly, so long ago, maybe I felt like that with the X-Files. I certainly went a bit mad for it. And, you know, I didn't even notice that Gillian Anderson was the most attractive woman on telly until the second series. I think that says a lot about the awesomeness of the first series. Or the badness of her hair in that series, anyway.

Anyway, yes. Lost. I hope it doesn't lose its way, 24-style, in the middle of series one. I'm up for a new show. Telly's been a bit random since Buffy left.

Two bits of funny.

Best. Cover version. Ever.

Best clip ever. It makes me so happy. As happy as Bill Withers and his happy drummer.

Or this.

omgnfw!

They painted Foxhole pink! What's that all about??

I mean, nice to see that the trees have grown - as they promised, the twigs planted have become a hedge - but pink? I bet they say "it's.. a kind of salmony colour.."

Mild Spoilers for Land of the Dead.

Zombies. Love 'em or hate 'em, you can't ignore 'em. That may well be the message of Land of the Dead.

Of course it's allegorical. It's not about real zombies, it's about movie monsters that are really your friend, your teacher, the guy next door. More likely; the guy at the petrol station, the girl at the checkout. The great and the good, Romero's undead thesis runs, are bolting themselves into ivory towers and throwing away their keys. While that's very pretty for a while, everyone has to eat so you need a serving class... sadly, most of those are dead and the ones left alive would tear your tower down if given half the chance so they need to be kept busy. Happily, there's a threat right outside the walls of the town that'll keep them down, keep them more worried about them than you.

And right in the middle of all this sits the military, the police, the forces of law and order, here portrayed as a rag-tag militia more concerned with nabbing canned goods than keeping the peace. Still, they have the guns and they dispose of the dissidents and that seems to be all you need. Someone for the rich to send out to hostile environments and acquire for them what they desire. Trouble is, this might upset the natives... and what if the people you spent money on training turn on you? Oh, you see the allegory do you?

Trust me, you won't fail to notice it. Especially when Dennis Hopper says things like "We don't negotiate with terrorists" or when John Leguizamo promises to "go jihad on his ass". Yup, it's post-911 zombies, guys. With a little class war thrown in for good measure (it's no accident that the leader of the zombies is clad in blue overalls for the entirety of the movie).

And, you know, it works. In that was the seemingly clunking satire works in, say, Dawn of the Dead, here Romero once again dances along the tightrope between schlock and awe as he throws his politics at the screen via liberal doses of quite literally visceral horror and mordant black humour. Oh, and the gore! You should see the gore! For a 15, it's really full-on, with beheadings, disembowellings, cannibalism.. well, you know the deal. It's gross.

I'm looking forward to a repeat viewing. I think the satire will click better a few times in, as with Day of the Dead - at first viewing a bit of a clunker, it improves immensely each time I watch it and piggle away at the flesh of the meaning. This time out, I need to acclimatise to the idea of smart zombies, ones who can use tools and feel pity, anger, hatred. When the undead horde discover a yard with still-moaning zombies strung up for target practice, it's a suprising moment - for the first time, one empathises with a zombie. You feel their revulsion... revulsion directed at us.

Yeow!

Holy crap! Look at the shiny! If it wasn't for that fact that I couldn't give two fucks about FFVII, I'd be super excited. See, a FFVIII movie... now you're talking. Oh, I know no-one else would like it, but I would. I'd go and see it all on my own and be the only person in the world that liked it - like the The Spirits Within. Oh, man. Was I ever on my own there!

Sandwiches

I think today will be all about sandwiches. Apparently there was a suspect package in benjy's and now we've been given free sandwiches at work. Coincidence? I think not.

Back up again

London gets bombed.

London's response - "Alright, come on, come on, get back to it you bunch of girls, stop yer cryin'" It's pretty impressive. There are a lot of pedestrians, a lot of texts flying, the odd stunned-looking person, but generally Londoners are getting back to the routine (adapted) with speed. Amazing. My plan now? I'm going to get a bus, then catch a train home. My normal commute. Which, 6 hours ago, were shut down.

Shutting up shop

Wow, big parade of traffic cones, barricades and diversion signs heading over Blackfriars bridge. A load of buses out of service coming the other way. London is officially closed.

State of Emergency

Well, it seems like London is under attack. For me, this has meant.. walking to work. I know, it's a heavy toll.

Buses are being pulled out of service, the Tube is shut down. Liverpool Street (my station) was being slowly but surely evacuated as I arrived this morning. The city is full of sirens and bustle, it's like very calm chaos. No-one is panicking, but no-one is at ease, either. We're ready to jump but we're just too laid-back to do it without things actually going bang in our face.

This is weird. So. Very. Weird.

There goes the neighbourhood

I've lived in London for a couple of years now, and not once have I heard anyone say "You know what we need? A world-class velodrome." But, apparently, we're going to have one. Great! Bulldoze the Lea Valley! Put in... a massive car-park. And.. what's that? An Olympic-standard swimming pool? Woo! What about, you know, affordable housing, or a nice enterprise zone (should such things still exist)? Oh, what about all the businesses located in the Olympic Building Site? I'm sure they'll be fine in.. whatever void they are cast to. At least we'll have somewhere to park coaches in 2013. In Leyton. Tourists dig Leyton, right?

A Straight Man's Guide to Public Lavatories.

As you are possibly aware, there are etiquettes and codes for those gents among us who wish to enter a public lavatory and do it proper with other men, for some reason. How you find a dirty, ill-lit room which stinks of piss arousing is beyond me - I don't spend much time in public libraries for the same reason.

Anyway, it occurs to me that there are no rules laid down for those of us who do not wish to find an engorged member thrust through the cubicle wall with a curt invitation from the owner to suck it like a Zoom.

So, with that in mind, here we go.

1. Never use the urinals if it can be avoided. It seems obvious to me, but that is because I have a rule about not taking my cock out in public. Nothing to do with modesty and everything to do with simple decency. These are strangers! Don't put it in their faces. Leave that for those that want it. nb. This is not necessarily anything to do with avoiding an awkward moment with an amorous fellow-lavatorian. I just think it is unseemly to waggle one's organ about the place.

2. No eye contact! I don't care if they're your best friend or your brother or your boss! You look them in the eye and you are saying "Yes. I want to have the sex, here in this house of excrement." Are you saying that? ARE YOU? No. So just pretend you didn't see them.

3. If there are many cubicles, use the one nearest the door. The one furthest away from the door will be for homosexual lovemaking only. Consequently, this means that it is probably the cleanest stall in the place. If you can be certain that you will not be in company - eg. it is the office toilet and you are working so late everyone has gone home - then you can chance it. It'll be spotless in there. If there is only one cubicle and it is occupied, leave the bathroom. Cross your legs and wait, a safe distance from the toilets. Hanging around outside is a no-no, obviously, and queueing for the cubicle will look very much like you are waiting to be picked up and buggered senseless.

4. If you have to use a urinal, eyes front. I can't stress this enough. Don't make eye contact with the person next to you and certainly don't look at his member, lest you be tempted to sordid acts.

5. Don't speak to anyone in there. As with rule 3, it doesn't matter who they are. If they initiate any kind of conversation - and this includes weather talk - they are a gay homosexual with designs on your buttocks. Shun them at all costs and make a dignified exit. Don't forget to wash your hands - bacteria has no respect for sexual orientation.

6. Most important one, this - do not at any point put another man's penis into your mouth. This is technically a "queer" act.

I hope you have found this instructional. Yes, I was bored. And yes, "nb satire" applies.

I SUCK!

Apparently I don't do updates anymore. I just look at my site and use it as a place to go from. Bad news! I'm not as bad as Marv, mind. He SUCK SO HARD HE BLOWS! Sorry, Marv, but it had to be said.

So what's happening, daddio?

We-ell. Let's see. Fuck me, it's hot! I mean, I know it's the solstice, longest day any day now but come on! You know why, don't you? Big Brother. Every year, like a charm, it brings out the sun. I start with a comment about the weather? Boy, am I English..

I've been upping my cinema visits! You saw the unfocussed ramble about Revenge of the Muthafuckin' Sith, and I saw Sin City since (so you don't have to. And you really don't. Avoid!) and on Wednesday Batman Begins! Then continues and eventually ends after about 2 hours. Anyone from FU will notice that I stole that joke, but haha! I'm not just writing for you , and they don't know, do they? Only they do now. Shouldn't have mentioned it.

I've been playing Lego Star Wars, and you should too. It's insufferably cute! I don't know why, but they've made Obi-Wan a bit of a doofus and it works so well that Lucas should CGI a daffy grin onto Ewan's face when he inevitably fucks about with the prequels in 15 years.

Dr Who is over for now, and wasn't it just awesome? I can't help but worry we'll be cringing behind the sofa in ten years at the naffness but right here and right now for those 13 weeks there was nothing to touch it on TV. The sheer quality of the performances glossed over some actually not great writing and the enthusiasm of everyone involved created the most astonishingly good series of a British sf show I've seen since... sod it, forever.

Enough geeking out! The new White Stripes album is a serious grower but has now won itself a place in my heart. The new Gorillaz, meanwhile, has still to prove itself. No matter! I'm sure to give it time. Meanwhile I've been listening to Oobermann's Magic Treehouse album from a while back and it's adorably fun. But, again, I'm starting to cringe at it from a distance. Not as badly as I cringed when I listened to Therapy?'s Troublegum.. but a bit. Still, again, enthusiasm is papering over the cracks.

That was still geeky. Okay, I'm going to put up some shelves over the weekend and then have a barbecue. How's that?

And here he is

Hello, Sir!
Originally uploaded by RandomMoth.

Lookit!

I find your lack of bricks disturbing..

I was in John Lewis on Oxford Street today and oh my! Approaching the toy department, you hear a very familiar noise. Is that..?

When you reach the department, guarding the entrance is a 6'6" Darth Vader, breathing loudly and making various comments about joining us or dying, or accepting apologies. And - best of all - he's made of Lego! Dude rocks. Oh, there's another one, too, but he's not made of Lego.

Don't set my place at the poverty banquet

I think I'm going to avoid Live 8. I don't feel the need to be a part of this particular global event, and if my grandchildren ask me about it I'll say "Well, kiddiewinkies, I just didn't see the point. Now go and get me some space milk from the space corner shop."

I'm happy for charities to ask me for money. Well, not happy, but I get it. I give them money, they give it to people who need it for whatever reason. Whatever good reason I mean, not "they need a new bike" or something.

But this? Consciousness raising? What kind of useless hippy crap is this? Are the G8 leaders really going to write off Third World debt because Madonna does a free gig in Hyde Park? Will it really end the suffering of millions if the heads of state of the wealthiest nations see Bono (practically the 9th wealthiest nation in himself) prancing about lecturing people between lumpen slabs of Dadrock? Actually, that might even add to the suffering, bringing it to people in the First World, too. Which is egalitarian, I suppose.

My feeling is that mass protest of this sort makes no difference. Look at the regular, massive marches against the Iraq War. Boy, that sure stopped us going to war, didn't it? Oh, no, wait.

Star Wars Episode III: Thoughts on the train home

Why do I still watch this stuff? It's a question I've asked myself a few times recently. Am I seduced by nostalgia and hype? I hope not, though there's a fair amount of that. But it's not the entire answer.

Am I, then, enraptured by the story unfolding before me over 6 films and more than 12 hours? Again, I don't think that's quite it. True, I get involved with the movies when I watch them (ahem, Episode I apart), and tonight I found myself wrapped up in the story of Episode III to such an extent that I actually found my critical faculties had been disengaged by my narrative concentration. This doesn't happen often. Usually I have a response to a film formulated by the end, this time I just sat and dumbly watched the credits until they flicked the lights and shooed me out. I was taking in the enormity of what had happened - not onscreen (though that was pretty huge, it was not unexpected), but inside me.

It's over. Something I've carried with me since day one - I was born the year Star Wars was born, as the twins were born the same time Vader was rising - something I had thought complete for so long was now truly complete.

But why - to return to my original thought - do I care so much? Honestly, I don't know. At points during Sith I thought "If I wasn't a fan, this would be shit. Look at that! What's up with that?"

But I am a fan. I think it's that simple. I care because I love the films, like I love a person. Okay, you're backing away, but it's the only applicable emotion. It's flawed as hell, it's difficult and it's sometimes bafflingly frustrating. Sound like anything you've experienced lately? But I love it anyway, you love what you love and if you feel like there's something wrong with it, there's something wrong with you, because you're bound to it.

Hmm. Special pleading much? Can't the films be films, do you have to get all fanboy on us and view them on merit? Actually, amazingly, I think they can be viewed on merit. But not by me. And not by those who hate Star Wars, either, because that's as unreasonable as love.
So fuck it. Here's my review:
.

wikipedia teaches you stuff

In the article on Freddie Mercury, one finds this -

"Although Mercury may have passed in the real world, he appears as a recurring character in the Japanese anime series Sakigake!! Cromartie High!. Wearing only long brown pants with red suspenders he is known to the main characters only as "Freddie". He does not speak despite moments of him singing (although his voice is not audible) and is sometimes seen riding around on a giant black horse. Some people wonder if he understands Japanese. He also is normally introduced by a harmonious guitar riff."

How does that not rock? Answer - in no way does it not rock. Oh, I'm actually confused by my own grammar now.

Feeding

Magpies love cheese. Who knew?

Go vote! I have disenfranchised myself, but that just means you have to vote twice! Give them one from me, not that I know what that means in context. Whatever. So it's been a dull campaign (apart from the hilarious Tory posters), that's no reason to abstain. Look, seriously, I need my vicarious democracy..!

Mass

St Paul's is really big. It's massive! I feel you should know this. One day I'm gonna tourist it up and head down there with a camera. It's also shockingly ugly. People don't like to hear that, but it's true. Distinctive, but, my, it's a biffer.

I'm not sure there's anything to add to that. What can you say? More on big, ugly buildings some other time, folks! Or maybe on big, attractive buildings! Who's to say? For example, a window fell out of the Swiss Re building yesterday. A frickin' window! That's a whole load of glass. I hope it's not unstable. I love the Swiss Re building. It's big, too, but it's not ugly. Not to me, anyway.

Another day, another link

I'm not feeling very inspired.

Sorry.

Still, this is fun. Fools! Takes a wee while to load, so go and do something else. Don't ruin the fun by watching it frame-by-frame.

Look!

It's a pirate with a monkey!

We mustn't laugh at ourselves.

This I find depressing. Look at that place! No-one cares. They've wasted money they should have put into proper advertising. Proof if proof were needed that the UK cannot - perhaps, should not - dabble in the home console arena. Designed by the guy who designed the Sinclair Spectrum, from when we were on the bleeding edge of home computer technology. Now the world has moved on and the UK has, apparently, failed to do so. Or, you know, we only have two guys - one called Clive - working on our technological frontline.

Oh, okay. Let's laugh at the Gizmondo. I too tried to be charitable, but it looks like ass (It does! I don't care that people are being kind, it looks like ass!), it has a stupid fucking name, it has a poor selection of games (usually with rubbish names) and no backup, it's out of its element. It's like a child who wanders into the middle of a movie... Look, it's a nice idea and I wish them well. But I don't expect them to be around in a year or two. Then again, we all laughed at the N-Gage...

I would link to the Gizmondo site. But right now it appears to be offline...

Endless nameless

Man, I just realised that I want to be Pope. You get to choose your own name! I'd be Pope Nemesis, or maybe Pope "Legs" McGraw. Actually, that'd be Pope "Legs" McGraw II, as I think there was a "Legs" McGraw in the 17th century.

Imagine a Goth Pope, though! The Vatican would be forced to announce the appointment of Pope Nightwing, or Pope Shad0wLord. Still, Papal edicts would be easier to issue, they'd just go straight through to Livejournal.

Stock Footage

So this morning (well, afternoon.. it was a late night), we thought we'd make soup. Flppy had a recipe from this month's Good Food magazine that sounded nice. It was a Polish recipe for chicken soup with matza dumplings and had all the hallmarks of being quite tasty. Simple, but tasty. Since we were already cooking something else with it later, we hacked off the legs and wings of a chicken - not easy first time, so this was quite a bit of effort - and put them in with an onion and a carrot to make the stock. Actually, the stock is the soup, which should have rung an alarm bell. Maybe. I don't know. Anyway we dilligently waited for, like, two hours, making matza dumplings along the way, before straining the soup out and having a taste. It was a beautiful rich brown from the onion skin and smelt lovely.

It tasted like water. Okay, maybe a hint of carrot. But carrot water is not lunch. Especially at 3pm. I put some salt and pepper in, but that made it taste like salty carrot water.

Thankfully we had a chicken breast in the oven and had sandwiches, but still. Bloody Poland.

I'm watching a shaft of light catching dust on Liverpool Street. It's amazing. There's so much of it! How do we breathe? In this light breeze it's blowing and streaking, it looks like someone has rubbed the sun with wire wool. If I had a camera I'd show you..

Underqualified..

..to make proper comment.

Sorry.

Top hat

There's no Pope at the moment. On the one hand - yay! No Pope! Organised religion is without a figurehead for a while - and don't come to me saying "Oh, it's only Roman Catholics", 'cause blah blah and tell me a more famous religious leader.

On the other hand, the power vacuum makes me uneasy. There's some kind of big gap under the Pope Hat. Like, in Lord of the Rings, when there's no king in Gondor. Oh, look they painted our lamp-post black.

Sorry, what was I saying?

George Bush is saying that the Catholic Church has lost its shepherd. Bollocks to that, it's lost the Pope! Focus on the important things, Dubya! Never mind about some shepherd.

This from the Shark Trust, Plymouth: "given the immense predatory power and sophistication of great white sharks, it is clear that if one wanted to devour a human being it could always be successful."
Sharks. Rock.

We had roast chicken with thyme last night, and where did the thyme come from? Was it from the back garden? Why, yes I do believe it was.
Unrelated, but I just heard someone saying "she's supposed to be amazing at netball. How are you amazing at netball?" He seemed to be completely at a loss, genuinely he couldn't comprehend that there might be skill involved..

Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wagn'nagl fhtagn

Grr! Argh!

It was a lovely day today and I thought "I'll have a look out in the garden, that'll be nice". After a little bit of digging (oh, all right, a lot of digging), I'd managed to unearth two most curious things.

Apparently, the house is built on the site of R'lyeh (I always thought it was in the ocean somewhere) and Cthulhu has some competition..

Ask a silly question.

What'll happen? Well looks like I get sick as a dog for a week. I've got a steeeeenking cold. And this headache has been giving me pain for THREE DAYS SOLID. That's three days plus the other two days that I've been photosensitive and achey and coughing and oh goddamn it I hate this body.

Although I do own Resident Evil 4 and, the chances are, you don't. Bet you wish you had a GameCube now, don't you?

nb. GameCube owners - bet you're glad you own a Cube now, eh? Rocks, no?

spring

It's definitely arrived. It's like winter got bored and suddenly here we are. It's a quality of the light, I think. It's been sunny over the past month, but this light is getting into my brain and shouting "SPRINGTIME! WAKEY WAKEY!"

I have energy. Wonder what'll happen?

golden ticket

I'm going out now to use this cheque I got from work to buy an... an... an annual pass for the tube! This is very exciting. Is it really so short a time since I was being urged to buy a weekly pass because it was cheaper and better than buying a daily pass? I feel positively resident in this big ol' city.

commentary

Okay, this is a response to a post on luce's blog. I have a pretty strong contrary opinion, I guess, and my comment became too unwieldy so I took it over here. Ironically..

First of all, having comments on a blog is optional, and therefore taking the decision to have them there in the first place is to actively invite comment. One can deactivate comments for a single post, or for the entire blog, should you so choose. If you don't, you take your chances.

Now, I've had a troll in my comments, it's not exactly a secret (a quick glance at some posts a few months ago will confirm that), and I deleted them. Without even thinking about it, because they brought nothing to the blog except mindless, boring provocation. But that was pretty much the only time I've felt the need to delete someone else's comment. Beyond that, I'll leave 'em all up. Why? Because a blog is a public thing by definition.

The question of unwanted comments can only be addressed by working out what your blog is for. If you're using it to publish, in a traditional sort of way, your opinions and such then turn comments off. You likely don't care to hear what people think of what you say (at least not directly), and you certainly don't want a counter-opinion directly in the face of the reader. If you don't want to engage with responses to your posts, you shouldn't have comments. I know it sounds harsh, but it's not a criticism. I can well understand that use of a blog, and it's completely valid; like a newspaper column. Put an email contact link somewhere so you can receive correspondence on your posts, but don't have comments. It's not for you.

If you don't want your blog to be a public thing, if you just want to keep a diary only, you know, not on paper, you're in the wrong place. Get a livejournal account and set it as friends only. That way you can invite a small group of lackeys in to chat with, should you so wish, so you're assured of only positive comment and no unpleasantness need enter your hermetically sealed universe. But, well, why the hell are you on the web? I understand this less, though I can still sort of see why it's done.

If you're using Blogger to share your thoughts, snippets of your life, opinions, whatever then you need comments. When Blogger didn't have comments it was a less interesting, less fun place. Because it tells you what another person gets from your life, what they think of what you think. Yes, sometimes they'll disagree with you and sometimes you'll have a fight on your hands but personally I think it's worth it. That's why I love comments, that's why I run my blog as an open house, and that's why I can't agree with policing blog comments beyond troll maintenance.

The Sanctuary: Special Victims Unit

I'm thinking of having a spin-off blog. It'll retain the essential formula of this blog - the infrequent posts, the poor quality humour, the oft-complaining tone - but will be set in another city with another person doing the blogging. They will have better hair than me, perhaps, but they'll be recognisably a "Moth type". Perhaps they'll be a musician. Yes, they'll play acoustic guitar.

I'm thinking that the Sanctuary could become a franchise. Apply in writing if you have a concept for a new setting.

NEW BUTTONS!!!!

Well, okay, links. Leave me alone.

Up above you can see there's a link to my personal radio on last.fm, which, you know, is full of hugely entertaining music. Once you leapfrog to someone else in my friends list. The more people on last.fm the better, it would seem, hence the pimp hat.

In related news, Flapjack has moved her blog to her domain instead of blogspot (yay for using fresh snow on the interweb), so that link is now updated. If you've never visited her blog before, why not try now? I think you'll find it full of both plants and bears. Flora and, indeed, fauna.

things you don't see every day:

A milk float just went by the window. Nothing odd about that, but it had broken down. Okay, fine, it was being towed, then.

By a fork-lift truck.

slight deviations may occur..

I should be in bed, but it's Saturday night, live a little. I happened upon this TV movie - Helen of Troy - and, as I've just started to actually properly read The Illiad (as opposed to putting it down after two paragraphs of clanging armour and intestinal losses), I thought "Hmm, give it a go, could be fun".

How right I was. I started watching with an hour to go, and the duel between Paris and Menelaus was just starting. Hmm, I thought. But ok, maybe it's in two parts, or something. Menelaus stepped forward, and was about 12. His bullying older brother Agamemnon (Rufus Sewell, not - I hope you notice - a redhead) was clearly the ringleader in this. I wondered if they'd stay with the text and have Aphrodite swoop in to save Paris. Probably not, on balance. Go with the Wolfgang Petersen version, much less silly.

So they fight, and tussle and such, then a mist appears and - this is lovely - they sit down for a chat. Menelaus asks after Helen, Paris doesn't do much because Agamemnon poisoned the javelin used in the fight. Whatever. They both emerge unscathed from the mist and people look a bit miffed. Especially Agamemnon, who wants Troy, dagnabit. And Hector, oh yes Hector decides to take Paris's place.

Meanwhile, I'm eyeing up the background characters, thinking "That looks like an Odysseus, and maybe that's Diomedes with the slaphead. Or Ajax, could be Ajax.." and then the less-than-hirsute one steps forward and basically says "I AM ACHILLES! RAARRRRR! FEAR MY BALDNESS!!!!1!!!!"

WTF? I realise this is all about the Helen, but come on! The whole entire book is about Achilles sulking in his tent! What's he doing here just after the duel of Paris and Menelaus? I was smiling quite broadly at this point. What next? He tells Hector to have the first throw, and turns his big bald back. And now I give you a script excerpt. Honest to god.

ACHILLES: You should have killed me when you had the chance.

HECTOR: I don't fight that way.

ACHILLES: I do! Rarrrr!

[ACHILLES throws spear through HECTOR'S chest]

PARIS: Achilles..! Take.. me..!

ACHILLES: DIE, HECTOR!!

[Pulls out spear, rams it back in, shakes it about]

I am not joking. Then he - as suggested by Homer - ties the body to the bumper of his chariot and he's off, and he just kind of goes away. When he turns up a little bit later (killed by Paris, arrow through the ankle, if you must know) in his chariot, I half expected Hector to still be bump, bump, bumping along behind. Sadly, he wasn't. But I shall cherish "DIE, HECTOR!!" for a long time.

Also, when they found the horse was pretty classy, too. Apparently the Greeks built it so big reckoning that the Trojans wouldn't be able to fit it in their gates. "Oh, yeah? Well, we'll show them!" said the Trojans. They didn't actually say it, but boy was reverse psychology much easier then, or what?

Crumpets

I made crumpets on Sunday. Oh, yes. And I don't mean "I toasted crumpets", no. None of your Sunblest for me! It's not hard - contrary to what you may have heard - it's just time consuming. But very very worth it when you see this start to form in your frying pan -




And then you flip it to seal those lovely bubbles and what should come out but this..



Fluffy! And delicious.

Hunger

We'd been doing pretty well over the weekend. We'd marked out all the meals we were going to have over the three days (we both took yesterday off), bought the ingredients and on Saturday and Sunday we cooked them all. I'll talk about Sunday's lunch later, I have piccies.

But yesterday was a disaster. Didn't bother with lunch, and dinner was a completely inedible mess. It was fried spicy fish, but it was bland and the linguini it was paired with was undercooked and underseasoned. So I have to apologise to the world in general for that.

On the plus side, the weekend was lovely. We did as little as possible and generally enjoyed being alone with each other, something that had been sorely missed through January.

consider this news

Hello again!

I'm back properly now, so let's just put the last month behind us and start afresh. How are you doing? Good, good, happy to hear it. I'm at work at the moment. Did I mention that we have new flat monitors and snazzy barcode readers? No, I don't work in a supermarket. Though.. man, that would be pretty cool. No, it wouldn't. Ignore me.

I had some peanut butter M&Ms yesterday. I must trek to Cybercandy myself sometime and buy their entire stock, just so Masterfoods gets the message. I WANT THEM HERE NOW! Stupid crispy M&Ms. Who wants them? No-one, that's who. But peanut butter... I like the USA for one reason alone - its propensity to cram any and all foodstuffs full of peanut butter. Peanut butter M&Ms, Twixes, chicken kievs...

I'm not dead. Hello! How was Burns Night for you? I can't tell you how much fun mine was. No, I really can't. Looking forward to Australia Day now. And then the full-on party tomorrow for.. hmm.. Holocaust Remembrance Day, apparently. Way to harsh a party buzz, calendar makers!

Can't get to computer. Send help.

older again

I hit 28 running on the 5th and so far the only difference is that I'm wearing a jumper which makes me look like someone's dad. Actually, that may be a sign of something or other, but I doubt it.

I spent most of the last week trying to help my parents help my brother who is in difficulty on the other side of the world - Japan, to be precise. Well, to be more precise, he was in Korea from Tuesday and... you don't want to hear this whole story. It was a less than fun time, but it's lurching towards finishment, with his arrival on Wednesday hopefully putting him back on the map and on the right track for the time being.

Oh, yeah.

I wish to register a complaint. Why aren't I worth more? I've been Blogging for ages and have lots of links from and to and yet I'm worth less that most of the bloggie-come-latelys I'm linked to. Yes, for some reason I care.

Happy new thing

Okay, that's celebration over with for another year. Or... not started for this year? I dunno. Oh, hey, don't forget my birthday on Wednesday. That's a bit more celebration, but not a universal one (I'm working on it being an international holiday, but as yet it's only respected in the phatter parts of Northern Ireland. And Scotland, obviously, but they get Hogmanay off, so I don't know if they really think about their national holidays too hard).

I'll be somewhere in Lincolnshire soon. Watch out for me, I'll be visible to the naked eye.

Furthermore, nothing.