Moths and Wine

My Come Dine With Me addiction has reached a high point. Earlier I watched 3 episodes in a row and I think I'm going to have to watch a fourth, it is pretty compulsive.
This hot weather has turned the house into some kind of insect metropolis. I've had every window wide open for the past three days and there are currently 12 daddy long legs' (what's the 'adult' term?) flying and bopping blindly around the ceiling in the living room alone. They keep brushing against my legs, it tickles.
I think there is an insect division actually - downstairs the long legs, some dead, upstairs, the moths, in more shapes, sizes, colours, and patterns than I have ever knew of the humble moth - all vying for the attention of the same 40w lightbulb. What sad lives they lead.
And I never knew how loud they were - big brown ones keep flying at my face (can they actually see the lighbulb reflection in my frequently dilated eyes?) and when they get close enough you can hear the sound of their wings - whopwhopwhopwhopwhop. It's startling, but in an inert, tranquil sort of way.

I drank a bottle of wine today, it was a rough one. I should really have known better than to purchase a wine called 'The Big Kahuna' - what are they doing now, advertising white table wines for hip preteens who own wetsuits and live near the beach and like to surf?
I suppose some dickheads must buy it.....myself and perhaps dad's who're living in the past, the title invoking a rush of nostalgia. Maybe.


Finally it's fingers crossed for Wimbledon - the angry Scot against the big arsed Spaniard. I won't be putting money on that one.

No blog for ages

Yes. It has been a long time since I did a blog. I'm amazed at just how long in fact. This is due in part to me forgetting my Googlemail password. It's like, if you forget it, you're fucked. Google are quite serious in these matters.
I feel as if a lot of this blog from now on will descend into moans about various things, so while I'm basking (or is that with a 'Q'?) in the afterglow of having somehow miraculously remembered my password, I will start by mentioning a few things that I have learnt and done since coming back from the lovely town of Ormskirk.

-I have lost 3 pounds....yes! It's true - by dropping the wine and Iceland microwaveable meals diet, I have lost weight. Truly remarkable.

- I run now. I used to be a runner, back in those long ago days, and now I'm a runner again, and my legs have subsequently started to harden and I don't cough so much (probably due to dropping the cigarettes). And it's lovely.

- I have forgotten how to write. Anything, quite literally. This might become a moan, or possibly a muse, in a future post. Stay tuned for that!


- I started a youtube video thingy. Mainly because I just love the sound of my own voice and also because I can be quite rubbish at speaking so wanted to create an outlet for that in hopes of improving. Oh yes.

- I read the Savage Detectives by Bolano. My world view has not changed or been adjusted and I'm not really a better person for having read it. Sorry.

Right yeah, so that's a few things. more blogs to follow, time to catch a train now. Yip doodle dandy out.

2 shit films and 1 great book

So, I don't really write reviews for films. This is because I don't usually have anything new or worthwhile to say, and I therefore consider it a waste of my time. Thesedays I only write reviews for films when I feel especially annoyed at them for having wasted my time. The following reviews I'll keep brief; they may not be 100% objective because I only watched about half of these films, but I think I saw enough to pass judgement. And anyway, I'm no professional, this is just a quick opinion on each one.

A Complete History of my Sexual Failures (2008)
The guy making this film is a complete moron. From the 40 or so minutes of the film I saw, the guy tried to raise laughs with his Louis Theroux style voiceover. He was trying to be ironic and self deprecating, I think, although he only came across as a repellant wanker.
'I fail with women because I'm lazy and I never show up on time.' - That was the main line. He went around askinf the women who had dumped him over the year's why they had done so. Those were the main reasons. Although he didn't appear to be learning anything.
From there the documentary side was getting quite dubious, and I began to assume that this was more mocu than docu-mentary. Maybe it was, I actually couldn't care less.
It was about a charmless, arrogant, lazy ass bastard who couldn't get it up in the bedroom.
Truly pathetic work.

Martyrs (2008)
A French horror film, but unlike some of the ones from earlier in this decade - Haute Tension being a prime example of one of the good ones - this tried to do the same thing but failed. The introduction of a gollum-like imaginary demon was a good effort, and the extreme violence might have worked, but it just didn't.
The film set up two unlikeable women in a plot that was cloudier than a river running through a nuclear powerplant.
Ah, it was just appalling - violence for the sake of violence, held together by a matchstick plot.

Okay, as you may be able to ascertain, I am not very good at writing reviews on films. And ironically, I tend only to write opinions of films I particularly disliked. More ironic still, I generally hadn't watched the film in question in its entirety, and felt so repelled and annoyed by it that I didn't care to write a full and detailed account of it anyway because thinking about how bad it was made me angry again.
Very self defeating! I digress.....

The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo!
I had heard quite a lot about this trilogy by now dead author Steig Larsson, who tragically died before seeing the worldwide phenomenom his novels would become. The guy wrote only three, entitled the Millennium trilogy.
I began reading this first installment today and am quickly hooked. Larsson weaves his story with immediacy. It is fact laden but never dull, characterised competently, and is full to the hilt with intrigue. So far it does not feel in any way formulaic or predicatable. On the contrary, it is a fresh piece of writing with an effortlessly readable prose style and characters who are genuine and actually original.
So far the answer is wow - things are very captivating. A quarter through this one already, it has really 'consumed' me - the term I like to use for a book that doesn't let my brain release it from my hands!

TV: The great manipulator and my daily work routine.

Television is, more often than not, a waste of time. A big fat waste of time. It is mostly full of chat shows, reruns, news, crap sitcoms, news, more reruns, and shows that are giving us information we don't really need to know.
Everybody should know this, well, everybody does know this. Except for maybe those unemployed people who sit at home watching Jeremy Kyle, and smirking at how much better they are than the even lower forms of life before them.
Although recently, I have been inextricably drawn to watching television. I don't have access to a television in my house at university, but since being at home, it has become this magical screen, fascinating for the way it draws a person in.
Just now for instance, I watched about 15 minutes of one of those family sitcoms. It was complete cookie cutter material but I found myself chuckling at some of the jokes, in a kind of 'yeah, I can relate to that' sort of way', and watching it until the end. For that period of time all the things I actually wanted to do were forgotten, it was as if I were glued to the seat. Watching, but quite unwillingly, simply consuming what was in front of me. For no purpose.
I suppose that the human mind enjoys visual stimuli to such a point that for anybody halfway intelligent, this mindless rubbish has the power to hold interest. I find it quite mysterious.

Secondly, I want to muse on my routine. I am and always have been quite fascinated with the acuteness of preparing for a day in work. It really makes me think about time, and really how much of it that we waste. When I set my alarm for 8:00, having to be in work by 9:00, I frequently think to myself, 'I'll never make it! I'm going to need at least two hours to get ready.' This however, is simply untrue. I'm going to live in the boring realm of my psyche for a few moments while I list my morning routine before arriving at work. It probably isn't very different to most people's, but it has such a clockwork-ness to it, while in a half awake state, that it holds a certain fascination. Anyway, here we go:
- Alarm sounds at 08:00. I often lay there for several minutes before going downstairs.
- Boil the kettle and fill the cafetiere.
- Get in the shower; wash, dress, deodorise.
- Come downstairs, pour coffee - watering it down so I can down it immediately.
- The time is usually about 8:24 before by this point, and I read a few pages of a book (it's one of the few intellectual stimuli I'll have allday) then I make something to eat, usually toast. I like to try and eat as close to leaving as possible, otherwise I'll be hungry before lunch.
- Brush my teeth, pack my lunch, leave the house. Time: 08:41
- Get driven to work (the car doesn't trust me), arriving at around 08:54.

Ok, so there it is. It doesn't sound remrkable and maybe it isn't, but that is a lot of stuff happening in one hour, and all of it is done and considered with such precision. None of the time is wasted. I guess my conclusion is that when you have somewhere to go, you do everything and don't ponce around. I still find it odd though - time spent doing fun things seems to fly by, generally. A bit sad right?

So...very....weary

"I am tired, I am weary, I could sleep, for a thousand years...."

- The Velvet Underground lyric seems highy applicable here. I slept on a belly full of wine last night and this meant it wasn't the best of rests. Add to this a late shift on the noisiest unit with the most demanding 'residents' and Ross becomes a nerve-shot bunny - tired to the bone and a grouch.

I hated today!

But Sunday pay rates make me feel a bit better.....

Oh, and I was tiring by about 5pm, and all these units have is decaff coffee. Decaff coffee, like 5 jars of it!


I am seriously considering buying a thermos so I can have the strong stuff when I'm at work. I put 3 spoons of the decaff into a cup and it still tasted anything but coffee-like.

Huff. Tiredness equates to blaming Nescafe Decaff. Pffffffffffffffffffffft.

Productivity?

Today I really tried to be productive. I think I parly succeeded. I did plan to have a few assignments sorted out, but I only managed to do my fiction. I'm up to a second draft and I'm fairly satisfied - it is about an unstable man who is incredibly deluded. When I woke up I had many an idea in my head, but this is the one that came out when I began writing.

I spent a good part of my day fuguring out what to write and drinking tea, although I am now drinking wine, having just finished watching Harold and Kumar, the wine is finished too.

I procrastinated award-winningly throughout the day, I laid down for most of it and listened to beautiful Elliott Smith songs.

The picture above (I'm uncertain how to move them downward) sums up my day. Laying down in a mixture of thought and sadness, and getting duvet button markings on me. Yup. The sadness is not applicable to this blog though. This is reserved for output and funny observations.

Observations, like the carer I met the other day - He was Spanish and really had the look of a young Javier Bardem about him. Mmm. Haha.

Stupidest car 'accident' ever and the saxophone

This was the nicest bottle of wine I'd enjoyed in sometime. I drank it after what is easily the dumbest thing I have done for sometime. I went out for a drive in my mum's car last night, with her in it as I haven't yet passed my test. Everything was going swimmingly well until we got to the bottom of my road. I'm cringing as I write this but I pulled out, then mistakenly tapped on the accelerator, sending the car jolting forward. As I cringe I'm also wondering how I managed to do what I did, it was sort of remarkable in the most stupid of ways.

I had pulled out a little too far, and I think that (and my irate Mother shouting turn/brake/turn a lot) caused me to accelerate, mistakenly. It was dark so I couldn't look down and spot that my foot was on the accelerator, rather than the brake. I think this split second of indecision and confusion made my brain cease to function, albeit temporarily.

There is a bus lane at the end of my road, and in it was a bus. Behind the bus lane is a wall, a tall one with poncey tower things at each side, like a castle. Anyway, in the aforementioned 'panic/confusion', the car jolted forward more and more, until it was about three metres from crashing into the wall. Still failing to find the brake (the pedals in Hyundai's are incredibly fucking close together - although most people will consider that an excuse) my powers of self-preservation must have kicked in and I decided to abandon trying to locate the brake and turn away from the oncoming wall instead.

So I turned away from the wall, and the car rolled along the kerb. After grazing a lampost I turned again, cosying up right beside the bus (with a very confused driver inside), and in the process dented the bumper, crushed the driver's side door inward, and knocked the wingmirror off. The bus got away practically unscathed.

It all happened in such slow motion and I knew I'd done one of the stupidest things of my life. After the 'mishap', my mum was shaking like a leaf and crying. I wanted the ground to open and swallow me up. I was shaking for about 10 minutes until a seething embarassment set in. This was endured further by the incredibly slow arrival of the boys in blue. The policeman had a voice like the dim one out of that old band Blue, (Lee) and that made it more embarassing, as he told me that not seeing the pedal was not a valid excuse, and 'good luck living it down' after he had looked at my provisional license - likely to stay provisional for a while longer I think.

Ok, I think writing about that helped a little. Now, the saxophone. I'm only just beginning to get it out and play it. This is partly because I'm currently terrified of breaking it and therefore treating it as if it's made of sunshine dust and candy. I think it's a bit sturdier than that, and I have started moving it around less delicately. And I'm loving it. I don't know much about how to play it yet, but I know some basics and I can play and sustain notes properly. All very pleasing. I never became a good guitar player, so I'm hoping that I can actually become a good saxophone player. I'm sure going to try after paying £400 for the thing!