Thursday, March 29, 2007

 
This is a really great mememe. Courtesy of Mark, who got it from somewhere else.

IF YOUR LIFE WAS A MOVIE, WHAT WOULD THE SOUNDTRACK BE?

So, here's how it works:

1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc.)
2. Put it on shuffle
3. Press play
4. For every question, type the song that's playing
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button
6. Don't lie and try to pretend you're cool!

Opening Credits: "(Call Me) Number One" - The Tremeloes
Waking Up: "I Know But I Don't Know" - Blondie
First Day At School: "Track 08" - The Former Bullies
Falling In Love: "I Put A Spell On You" - Manfred Mann
Fight Song: "America" - The Nice
Prom: "I Can't Let Maggie Go" - Honeybus
Life: "Goin' Back" - The Byrds
Mental Breakdown: "Rainy Day Women #12 & 35" - Bob Dylan
Driving: "What's Happening?!?!" - The Byrds
Flashback: "Resurrection Joe" - The Cult
Getting Back Together: "Frozen" - Madonna
Wedding: "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy?" - Rod Stewart
Birth of Child: "W*O*L*D" - Harry Chapin
Final Battle: "The One In The Middle" - Manfred Mann
Death Scene: "Eddie's Dreaming" - The Small Faces
Funeral Song: "Laser Love" - Marc Bolan & T-Rex
Remembrance Song: "Sweetness Follows" - R.E.M.
End Credits: "In The Flesh?" - Pink Floyd

And if I may, a slight addition.

Joke After The End Credits: "#9 Dream" - John Lennon

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I need to point out that it is not all misery and distress in Residence Chez Pynchon. Detente (definition: the easing of tensions or strained relations, especially between nations) is the order of the day. I am not winding Lorraine up and she is not winding me up.

I have been putting up with her rising at 5am, leaving the house at 6am, arriving at work at 6:30am (around the time I am waking up), working through her lunch, working late (she gets a lift home, so I piss off at 5:30pm on the dot and shout at the pigeons while I walk to the bus stop), being too tired to do any cooking or washing up so I do it, falling asleep in front of the TV and generally wearing herself out. I smiled when she told me that she would be working this Saturday. I gritted my teeth and smiled when she said that she would also be working Easter Saturday, truncating Good Friday and Easter Monday, so putting the mockers on myself arranging a day out in the smoke as her late Birthday present.

Yes. Relations have been just fine. There have been no arguments in days. That is good. I even had a hug this evening, or did Lorraine just trip into me? I think it was a hug. Yes, it was. It was followed by a chaste kiss on the cheek.

If I said nothing I truly believe that we could be together forever. A civilized couple, sharing a house, separate rooms, separate lives. Friends. Good friends. No rocking of the boat. Civilized.

The weekend cannot come quickly enough.

I don't want to be fucking civilized. I want blood red emotion and passion. What am I? An old man.

Fuck off.

I will be at the Sugababes gig at the NEC tomorrow night, so I will be back on Saturday or Sunday. I am really looking forward to the Sugababes gig. I fully expect to be the oldest person at the gig by about 25 years. It concerned me, briefly, when I purchased the ticket, but then I thought "bollocks to it". I like the Sugababes. I'm going to the gig to sing and dance to some pop music, not to grope pre-pubescent teenage girls.

Later people.

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Wednesday, March 28, 2007

 
I just did a huge long post. I have lost the fucking lot!

I really cannot be bothered to post it again.

Instead, have a look at this music video. Fabulous song. I might even go to see the band when they play Brum in June. Anybody interested?

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Tuesday, March 27, 2007

 
29 minutes before "CSI: Crime Scene Investigation" starts.

I was ill yesterday. I had a migraine. Lorraine thought I was on a skive, but I wasn't. Two minutes after she left the house I was violently sick in the bathroom. I had several Ibuprofen and went back to bed. I rose from the dead at midday, and after eggs, tea, bananas and a quick post, had a very nice couple of hours, dazed and confused on the settee in the front room.

I was extra nice when Lorraine came home and we are now talking again. Just before bedtime I raised the subject of sex again. No raised voices. No anger. Just words, and they were very quiet words.

I said that she/we/I should go to see somebody. A counselor. A therapist. Whatever.

Lorraine said that she did not need to see anybody. She said that I was only pissed off because I "wasn't getting any".

I didn't disagree with that, but said that the only question I wanted answered was, why wasn't I getting any? Yes, initial physical passion fades, but something physical should remain. Is it me? Am I gross? Am I disgusting? Do I do it wrong? (Does she remember how I do it? 15 months and counting, fact fans.) Is it a medical thing, and if it is, shouldn't medical things be treated?

Lorraine said it was down to "The situation we are in".

I asked her to explain what she meant by "The situation we are in" and she couldn't or wouldn't.

I said that I didn't want to have half a relationship anymore... and I nearly said that if all she wanted was a housemate, then I would be happy to be that, but that I intended to have sex again with somebody that wanted to have sex with me and that person wasn't necessarily going to be her... but I let that go.

I said that I wanted to have a serious talk, and just before bed was not the right time to do it. She agreed.

The time will be made and we are going to talk at the weekend. Yes, I know I've said that a serious talk is just around the corner, and it never seems to happen, but it will happen this weekend. I am determined.

This is an interesting article in today's Independent newspaper. I have left it out for Lorraine to find. Maybe it's a solution? Subtle. That's me.

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Monday, March 26, 2007

 
There once was a lady from Hyde,
Who ate a green apple and died.
While her lover lamented,
The apple fermented,
And made cider inside her inside.

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Sunday, March 25, 2007

 
Isn't communication amazing? This morning Lorraine and I managed to communicate with each other in sentences of less than two words. This went on for a couple of hours and we understood each other completely. It's all in the expression and tone of voice.

Eventually I got bored, went out, visited the cinema and skulked at my Mom's for several hours. I didn't have the heart to spend the whole day at the cinema. In the main I go to the cinema to enjoy myself, and as I wasn't enjoying myself, it would have been a waste of a visit.

I saw an interesting film, though. "I Want Candy".



It's a classic British comedy. A breath of fresh air. Well written with great performances (Carmen Electra especially is a revelation as porn goddess Candy Fiveways and shows just what a great actress she is) and great production values. Stephen Surjik's film is a welcome addition to the pantheon of comedies dealing with the war between the sexes. Along the way the script makes several incisive points about the infiltration of pornography in modern life during the 21st century and asks probing questions such as, who exactly is exploiting who?

"I Want Candy" is a classic. It's a triumph!

Are you fucking kidding us, John?

Yes, I am. "I Want Candy" is a piece of shit.

There is one great piece of gross slapstick involving a male actor who gets a bit... er... carried away, but other than that I don't think I laughed once. Hell, I like a good sex comedy as much as the next guy, but this is not a great sex comedy. It's terrible. Awful, awful, awful. Shame on Ealing Studios being associated with such toss. (You see what I did there?)

Michelle Ryan looks very nice, though. Check out the picture above. (Pynchon plays a bit of Jimi Hendrix's "Foxy Lady".)

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Saturday, March 24, 2007

 
It was Lorraine's birthday today. We had a nice time. Late start. Steak and eggs breakfast at Frankie and Bennys. Lots of shopping (Lorraine had a voutcher and bought "Casino Royale" for the ridiculous price of under 9 quid at Sainsbury's). Home. Ate nibbles and junk food and watched "Casino Royale" (even better the second time). Vegetated through the rest of Saturday night TV.

Nice time.

All ruined now. We had an argument and Lorraine said something to me that was so inappropriate, so offensive, so hurtful and out of order that I called her a "frigid, harridan of a fucking bitch" and walked out of the living room. She hasn't come after me. I have retreated here; to the upstairs back room. I will probably go to bed in a minute, get up and leave the house early and spend the whole day in the cinema. I don't want to stay in this house.

I don't think that Lorraine has any feelings for me whatsoever other than annoyance. It's kind of pathetic that I ever thought this could be salvaged.

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Friday, March 23, 2007

 
Rumours, untruths, lies, lies and damn lies.

Some of the following might contain spoilers. If they do, I apologise, but I must point out that I don't really know if any of the following are true or not. All of this information has been picked up during my travels in time and space, and you know how that goes. It frazzles the brain.

We were talking about "Doctor Who".



John Simm to be The Master.

Really? Maybe... but maybe not. It looks like John Simm is definitely going to be in the new series (there was a brief shot of him standing in front of Big Ben on the showreel shown to the press hacks at the Series 3 launch), but has the BBC confirmed anything whatsoever about the role he is going to play? I don't think they have. The fine character actor Derek Jacobi, who is also appearing in Series 3, is just as likely to be The Master because, don't forget, he has already played The Master in the webcast story "Scream Of The Shalka". Or maybe they are both to be The Master? At some point maybe Derek Jacobi, at the moment of his death, will regenerate into John Simm?

Or maybe John Simm is in the new series for a different reason? Which brings me to...

There is to be a new Doctor.

Not official, but it's coming. You know it. I know it. It just seems that we are waiting for the confirmation. Such a shame, because I really like David Tennant. David Tennant is a better Doctor than Christopher Ecclestone. (I think it was the mighty Mark who said something along the lines of, Christopher Ecclestone played the Doctor, but David Tennant is the Doctor. Mark was right.)

So, a new Doctor. Hmm... Just a thought. Maybe the new Doctor has already been cast and maybe the new Doctor is going to be John Simm? It would explain why he was on the showreel. A shock regeneration at the end of the new series? The BBC originally planned Christopher Ecclestone's departure at the end of Series 1 to be a surprise, but the news was leaked. Maybe they are trying the same thing again? Or maybe David Tennant will continue into Series 4 and leave mid-way through the run? That's something I read in some tabloid or other. If that happens, it means that the new Doctor will not be John Simm.

There are a lot of contenders for the role. These are a few of the names I've read around recently.

Robert Carlyle. (Interesting, but nah!)
David Morrissey. (Um... Yes.)
Robson Greene. (No!)
Bill Nighy. (Yes, but probably too big.)
Robert Lindsay. (Didn't he turn it down in 1981 and the part went to Peter Davison? I think he would be good.)
Jason Staham. (Terrible choice. No.)
Michael Maloney. (He'd be brilliant, but too unknown and at 50 is probably too old. I hope they go for him. I saw him onstage in "Sleuth" with Peter Bowles and he was fabulous.)
Rhys Ifans. (Just read that one. He can play serious. Did anybody see his portrayal of Peter Cook. It would work. Why not?)

May I also add my choices of Jason Flemyng (physically different from any other Doctor) and also Adrian Lester (a black Doctor, and wouldn't that bring an interesting dynamic to the show?)

There is also somebody else. Somebody else that I am absolutely sure Russell T. Davies himself linked to the role a long time ago. Somebody else that was also recently linked to the part of The Master. Somebody else, not above doing TV, who is a really good actor and is definitely making a name for himself. That person?

Michael Sheen.

I think that the new Doctor could well be Michael Sheen. I think that he would be really good.

I'm all Doctored out. Gotta go.

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Thursday, March 22, 2007

 
Despite going back to work yesterday, I am feeling much better. Lorraine has improved as well. The swelling in her eye has reduced. Lorraine will probably go back to work next week. The Company need her back badly.

Shall we talk about the new series of "Doctor Who"?

(No! Come back! Don't run away! I didn't mean it. OK. I did mean it. Go! See if I care. I glory in my geekdom.)

I'm not really a guy who haunts the Sci-Fi message boards, but there are lots of tasty rumours abroad.

Bit late now to go into them... (Ha! Ha! Ha!)

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Tuesday, March 20, 2007

 
I feel incredibly weak. I have no appetite. My chest hurts me when I laugh.

I didn't go to work today. I feel faintly guilty. I don't know why. I phoned Sandy Trout at 7:30 this morning to let The Company know that I wasn't coming in. Sandy said that I sounded awful, but wasn't remotely interested in the colour of my stomach wall.

Daytime TV is terrible except, of course, for "Scrubs" (which is on constantly on multiple channels) and "Less Than Perfect" (ditto). Sara Rue is a Goddess. I worship at her feet.

Here is a picture of her.



Lorraine is wearing dark glasses. She looks a bit like a member of the Velvet Underground.

I'll be glad to get out of the house so that I have something to write about.

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Monday, March 19, 2007

 
Hello. Back again.

At this juncture I need to point out that last night when I was 'tossing and turning in my Sister's double bed' I was actually alone at the time. Incest? No. Not cool.

So, where are we? This might navigate around time and space a bit.

I have chronic stomach ache. The vomiting has stopped. The shits continued, but the fury had abated somewhat. Now that I have taken some tablets, the shits have stopped completely. I have no appetite. I have only had a quarter of a ham sandwich and a small bowl of porridge all day and numerous cups of tea. If I still feel like this tomorrow, I will probably have another day off work. I'm sure that The Company will miss me.

Lorraine arrived at New Street station on Saturday night sporting an eye that would not look out of place at a Marilyn Manson photo shoot. Young children screamed in horror. Goths asked for her autograph. A young Spanish priest made the sign of the evil eye and hissed the word "diablo" at her.

(Enough, already. I really must stop making fun of Lorraine. It's too easy.)

Anyway, Lorraine didn't look good.

Lorraine went to the Eye Hospital today. They confirmed that it was "standard" Uveitis and nothing to worry about. Lorraine has creams and eye drops, which she has been using. The redness in her eye has subsided, but she still has appalling light sensitivity. This afternoon, in the twilight of the living room (it was quite a grey day outside), we watched a couple of episodes of "Alias" series 4 on DVD, but even that was a struggle for her. Then, when it got dark, we left the lights off and listened to the radio for a couple of hours.

Lorraine and I talked a lot. Probably the longest talk we have been forced to have for ages. It was civilized and it cleared the air.

She said that she is not a sex object and that is how I treat her. I told her that there is nothing wrong with (either of us) being treated like a sex object, occasionally. She said that I don't understand how important her job is to her. I agreed with her. Other than to earn me money, my job with The Company is not important to me at all and that I had no respect for any managers at The Company, except for her, at all. I said that to me she would rather do anything than go out with me at the weekend. She said that all I ever wanted to do was to go to the cinema. I disagreed with that and asked her to suggest something that she wanted us to do together. She said that she does not want sex because she feels pressured into wanting it. I told her that the feeling I got was that if I did not keep reminding her about sex, she would forget completely that it used to be a part of our relationship. She said that she wanted things to get better and I said the same.

She said that she still loved me and I told her that I still loved her. That was good. Yes?

I thought it was a productive chat.

Lorraine has gone to bed. She is snoring. I can hear her. (I'm not making fun of her. She is snoring.)

What else? Oh, yes. On Saturday I went to see "Inland Empire".



The worst film I have ever seen! Absolutely terrible. A catastrophe. Rubbish. Utter drivel. Shite from start to end. Utterly confusing. Mr. Director, please note that random scenes thrown together do not a plot make. Crap!

(What was that? It's a David Lynch movie? Oh, that changes everything.)

It's a masterpiece! Absolutely brilliant. A challenging piece of cinema. Lynch fiercely abandons all notions of what constitutes a linear narrative to come up with something truly surreal, experimental and freewheeling. It's a motion picture jigsaw puzzle, with Lynch trusting his audience to put that puzzle together. It's wonderful!

Ahem.

Well here's the rub. I have loved David Lynch movies with a passion. He is a true artist and his palette is the cinema screen. But with most artistes pushing at the boundaries of their art, there is always going to be a moment when you wonder if the artist is just taking the piss. Lynch might indeed be taking the piss with this film. I don't know.

What is "Inland Empire" about? It's about an actress working on a movie. It's about a prostitute working Hollywood Boulevard. It's about the unfunniest sitcom of all time. It's about a movie that had to be abandoned after the two leads were murdered. It's about girls dancing! I don't know what "Inland Empire" is about.

But did you like the film, John? Yes I did. "Inland Empire" is definitely something different and different should be celebrated. I would like to see it again, if only to try to piece it together, assuming that there is something to be pieced together. (It took me 3 watches to get "Mullholland Drive". Sadly, I'm not so clever.)

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Quick post. Some people get concerned when I don't check in.

I'm still here. Just about.

I am at Sister 1's place. I've been here all night. I was taken ill yesterday afternoon during Sister 1's traditional Mother's day buffet. Stomach bug, gastroenteritis, gastric flu - call it what you will, but there was vomiting (so that's what my stomach wall looks like) and diarrhoea (enough shit that, in the words of my hero Dr. Perry Cox from that fine show "Scrubs" when describing his baby son's excretions, I nearly hired a stable boy to sort it out) and mad stuff going on in my head (I designed and implemented an entire Birmingham underground system while tossing and turning in my Sister's double bed).

Now, I know that Sister 1 is a terrible cook, but I cannot honestly say that it was the food on offer that caused this. It came on way too quickly after we had finished eating, and nobody else was ill. Perhaps it was something in the Chinese takeaway Lorraine and I ate on Saturday night, or perhaps it was the eggs I ate Sunday morning or the fruit and cream tart I ate on Sunday lunchtime, or perhaps it was something in the air? When I rang work this morning to tell them that I wouldn't be in today, and neither would Lorraine as she is going to the Eye Hospital, I was told that somebody else had called in with the same "stomach bug".

I'm mostly OK now. Ravenously hungry, gasping for a cup of tea (I've been on water since 3pm yesterday afternoon) and my stomach still hurts, but I'm OK.

Gotta go. The bus won't wait.

Back later. Hope everyone is cool.

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Thursday, March 15, 2007

 
I've just spoken to Lorraine. She doesn't sound well at all. Again she has been to see the Doctor about her Uveitis, and they have doubled the strength of her medication. The Doctor has also told Lorraine that she might have to forget about going back to work in the short term. It's all going to depend on how quickly she responds to the treatment. This has worried Lorraine greatly. I think Lorraine feels her position at work, as we are very low on experienced staff, and on top of that Tina Noir will be off to Denver soon. Lorraine is worried that The Company will hold her being sick against her.

You know what I think? Fuck The Company. They can kiss her ass, right in the crack.

Lorraine is back home on Saturday. I will be picking her up from New Street station. Lorraine told me that she will be glad to get home and see me and that she loves me.

Me to. (Love her, that is.)

Fancy some more jokes? Of course you do.

One day, a man came home and was greeted by his wife dressed in a very sexy nightie.

"Tie me up", she purred, "and you can do anything that you want."

So, he tied her up and went golfing.

Or how about this one?

Marriage is a relationship in which one person is always right and the other is a husband.

Don't like that one? Try this.

A Polish immigrant went to the DMV to apply for a driver's license. First, of course, he had to take an eyesight test. The optician showed him a card with the letters: 'C Z W I X N O S T A C Z'.

"Can you read this?", said the optician.

"Read it?", the Polish guy replied. "The bastard owes me money".

I've also decided that this is a great song.



It's true. I really have nothing much to write about.

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Wednesday, March 14, 2007

 

Firstly, a joke.

A woman, standing nude, looking into the bedroom mirror, says to her husband,

"I look horrible. I feel fat and ugly. Pay me a compliment."

The husband replies, "Your eyesight is fucking perfect".

Secondly, an interesting little mememe. All of the answers need to be exactly 3 words long. It's a lot more difficult than you might think. (Stolen from Lithaborn Central.)

  1. Where is your cell phone? With my lady.
  2. Boyfriend/girlfriend? I hope so.
  3. Hair? Going thin fast.
  4. Your mother? Determined old lady.
  5. Your father? Had a laugh.
  6. Your favorite item(s)? I don't know.
  7. Your dream last night? I don't remember.
  8. Your favorite drink? Tea, juice, water.
  9. Your dream guy/girl? In my dreams.
  10. The room you are in? The back room.
  11. Your biggest fear? Losing all hope.
  12. What do you want to be in 10 years? Successful and happy.
  13. Who did you hang out with last night? The TV set.
  14. What are you not? Smart or handsome.
  15. Are you in love? Yes, very much.
  16. One of your wish list items? Riches beyond belief.
  17. What time is it? "It's Chico Time!"
  18. The last thing you did? Read some email.
  19. What are you wearing? Joggers, sweatshirt, trainers.
  20. Your favorite book? "Replay", Ken Grimwood.
  21. The last thing you ate? Crisps. Too many.
  22. Your life? Not so good.
  23. Your mood? OK, I suppose.
  24. Your friends? What friends, dude?
  25. What are you thinking about right now? Going to bed.
  26. Your car? I don't drive.
  27. What are you doing at this moment? Rubbing my eyes.
  28. Your summer? Probably be hot.
  29. Your relationship status? Drifting apart slowly?
  30. What is on your TV screen? The TV's off.
  31. When is the last time you laughed? One hour ago.
  32. Last time you cried? Last Saturday evening.
  33. School? Never go back.

And lastly, a bit of news about Lorraine.

Lorraine phoned last night. Her plans are in disarray because her recurring Uveitus has... Er... Reoccurred. There is a pretty good medical definition here, if anybody is at all interested, but suffice to say, one of her eyes has severe light sensitivity, has turned as blood red as the eye of Dracula after feasting on the blood of a buxom wench, and is causing her some discomfort. Lorraine has seen a Doctor, but needs to go back to the Birmingham Eye Hospital on Monday to get some proper treatment.

I'm not going to make myself out as some kind of know-it-all-hero, but I need to say at this juncture that I am pretty annoyed.

Lorraine has had this condition, on and off (mostly off) for over 7 years. The worst time she had of it was when it first started, circa 2000. She was off work for 4 weeks, had blurred vision, wore dark glasses (like a rock star) and/or an eye patch (like a pirate) constantly, could not stand to have any lights on in the house and could not watch TV or bear to look at a computer screen at all. She had treatment (an injection into the eyeball was part of it - eeek!) and eventually it cleared up.

The condition has come back periodically. Maybe 3 more times in 7 years. It's never been as bad as that first time because, at the first sign of any problem, she would go to the Birmingham Eye Hospital, they would do their voodoo and after a day or two she would be fine.

Midweek, last week, she started getting some discomfort in her eye. She said that her vision was blurred and it was "itching". I told her to go the Eye Hospital. She said it was probably nothing. On Friday she had a bloodshot eye. I told her to go to the Eye Hospital. She said she couldn't because she wasn't going to interrupt her holiday and had a train to catch early on Saturday morning. I said that the train could wait and that she could travel on the Sunday instead. She said to stop telling her what to do and that she would be OK.

She wasn't OK.

If I didn't love her I would give her a kick up the arse. What's that phrase I'm going to use when she comes back on Saturday? Ah, I remember it.

I told you so.

Maybe not. I will be nice.

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Monday, March 12, 2007

 



Brad Delp. RIP.

I feel much better today. Much more settled. Perhaps all I really needed was the discipline of getting up early, having breakfast, having a shower and going to work. It does occur to me, though, that if I am destined to behave like an ass when I lack the discipline of work, then I may as well kill myself now.

Ho, hum.

But before that... Sunday.

I went to the Midlands Art Centre to see "Sleeping Dogs".



"Sleeping Dogs" is a sweet little indie romantic comedy about what happens to a nice girl when she admits to her fiance that she once gave her pet dog a blow job.

Yes. You did read that correctly. The nice girl in the picture above (and she is nice looking, isn't she?) once gave her pet dog a blow job. She performed oral sex on a canine or, if you prefer, she blew the pooch.

I thought that "Sleeping Dogs" was just wonderful. Black and mortifying and awful and funny. Black comedy cut from the same cloth as the Todd Solondz movies "Happiness" and "Storytelling". Yes, "Sleeping Dogs" is a little rough around the edges (the lack of budget shows), but the performances are spot on and the script (dealing with serious questions about secrecy and honesty and how much somebody really needs to know about you before it starts to hurt them) is a little gem.

The comedian Bobcat Goldthwait wrote and directed "Sleeping Dogs". He was that loony Zed in some of the "Police Academy" films. Who'd have thought he could make such a good movie?

An it is a good film. It's very good. I don't know how the Midlands Art Centre managed to snag it a week before the official release date, but it is out here properly next Friday. Go and see it. I doubt that it will last very long, but it is a head and shoulders above the average gross out comedies that sometimes clutter up the multiplexes.

I went to see my Mom. She is well. She told me that just wants vouchers for Mother's Day. Just as well. I had no idea what to get her. I have been instructed that Sister 1 will be holding a Mother's Day buffet next Sunday at her house and that my attendance is mandatory. I was cheeky and asked if Lorraine could also come.

My Mom said, "She can come. If she's not too busy."

That would be a "No" then. My Mom knows that Lorraine is always busy.

My Brother has borrowed me Nick Love's second film "The Football Factory" on DVD. I watched it last night when I got home. I thought that it was hilarious. I'm not sure that that was the civilized reaction I was supposed to have, but I can't help what I find funny. Working class humour. Getting pissed, casual sex, drug taking, fighting, swearing. I suppose it's easy to get seduced by that kind of lifestyle. One observation. I think that as the movie progresses you are expecting that by the end of the film Danny Dyer's character will have grown and changed and moved on, but he doesn't. That was pretty bleak.

Before I left my Mom's house, my Brother and I got talking. He said that he had enjoyed every film that Danny Dyer had been in, and then he said

"Danny Dyer is what you and me would have been if we had taken up acting."

I cannot see it myself.

"A working class hero is something to be." Name the song and the writer.

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Sunday, March 11, 2007

 
No more drinking when Lorraine isn't here. Falling apart is wankerfied and not good.

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I am now able to read any .blogspot.com sites directly. Thank Christ for that. I was getting very pissed off. I don't do Internet isolation very well.

On the Blogger Help Group message board a very nice man let me know a work around which worked a treat. If you are finding that you are getting 'page cannot be displayed' messages when trying to read a blog, try to read the blog via this link. It should display with no problems. I would imagine that it is a very useful little link for getting around blogs that are blocked by Company firewalls, as well. Hmm...

After that I spoke to a very nice man on the Virgin Media help desk who thanked me for bringing the problem to their attention. He promised that he would get somebody to look into the problem as soon as possible and also gave me another useful little link here which allowed me to access any blogs. That link also seems to work for any website that is blocked. Perhaps somebody would like to try it out at work? I'm going to.

That over... Hello. How are you?

I should have a hangover, but I don't. The miracle of bananas, water and cornflakes. I suppose you want to know how my fantastic Saturday and Sunday went? You don't? Couldn't give a shit. I'm going to tell you anyway.

Lorraine went away yesterday. She will be gone for a week. She is visiting her Cousin and then her Brother and his new set of twins. She booked her train seat for some ridiculous hour of the morning, so I was up at 6am to see her off. I felt a serious need to see her before she left. The taxi came at 6:30am, so we only had half an hour, but it was OK.

When she left I got a kiss. It was a fairly perfunctory kiss, to be honest, but it was still a kiss. Lorraine said that we would talk seriously when she got back and that she would call me to make sure I was OK.

I went back to bed, had a wank and fell asleep, stinking, for a couple of hours.

Got up, shit, shaved, showered and into town. It was still relatively early, so I caught the first showing of Nick Love's new film "Outlaw". (It's not the film I intended to see on Saturday. That film was going to be David Lynch's "Inland Empire", which for some unknown reason was only showing in London. Birmingham not sophisticated enough, perhaps? Bastards.)

Anyway, "Outlaw".



My Brother really rates Nick Love as a Director, but until yesterday I had never seen any of his films. It's not been a deliberate choice. Sometimes it's just the way that it goes. There is always an alternative film to go and see. I will say this about Nick Love. Like Shane Meadows before him, I like the idea of Nick Love. He is a a British director who makes particularly British films about British obsessions. The pressures to grow up and out of your friends, gangs, football hooligans, the costa del crime and, now, the impression of a breakdown of law and order on the streets of Britain, the corruption in the criminal justice system, and the wish for somebody to do something about it.

"Outlaw" is probably not a great film. It is way too a fragmentary and unfinished a piece of work to describe as a great film. I got the feeling that a lot of material had been left on the cutting room floor. Perhaps the inevitable DVD release will be a longer, more satisfying cut? But "Outlaw" is a good film, a striking film and not a film you will not forget it a hurry. Bitter, twisted, edgy and very morally ambiguous. It also looks wonderful. Dizziness inducing camera work, a limited colour palette, cold and hard and beautiful.

Look at the picture above. It's great isn't it? The guys look mean, moody and magnificent. A unit ready to kick ass. It's a misleading picture. These men are damaged in all sorts of ways.

A depressed and betrayed soldier.

A mugging victim.

An intelligent and educated man, whose family pays the price for his attempt to uphold the law.

A sad and misguided loner who wants to do the right thing. The one character with the potential to be the true, tough, uncompromising vigilante in the group, but an unpalatable man - racist, uneducated and a bigot. (It is a great performance by Sean Harris. The best in the film. He is rapidly becoming one of my favourite actors.)

And a man, scared by the violence in his dreams, who is confronted with bullying and violence in his real life.

It's a fascinating film. Better than the reviews would have you believe. I would like to see it again.

After "Outlaw" I did some shopping.

Food, some more comfort purchases ("The Best Of The Stranglers", "The Best Of Tori Amos", "The Best Of The Backstreet Boys", "The Best Of The Sugababes" and "Escapology" by Robbie Williams) and some porn DVD's. ("Busty Porn Babes" and "Cathy's Diaries Volume 8", both masterpieces of erotica, of course.)

I went home.

At home I had a wank to "Busty Porn Babes" (it didn't take long). Then I stuck my MP3 player into the set of small speakers Lorraine bought for me for Christmas, stuck the MP3 player on random play and listened to it while having a bath. This is what came up and the order.

"Freak Like Me", the Sugababes. ("It's all about the dark in me." I love that line.)
"Honey Come Back", Glen Campbell.
"Rock DJ", Robbie Williams.
"Sea Of Heartbreak", Johnny Cash.
"I Never Picked Cotton", Johnny Cash.
"Tiny Machine", the Darling Buds.
"Do It Clean", Echo & The Bunnymen.
"Indiana Wants Me", R. Dean Taylor.

(They say that on an atomic level there is no such thing as randomness. If that is true, then something we experience as random is only something we have not yet figured out the pattern for. What is the pattern for the above set of songs? There's got to be one.)

I got hungry. I cooked steak, eggs, mushrooms and onions. I also had two large rolls with butter and drank a whole bottle of Blossom Hill. I watched "Dancing On Ice" (the lovely, large breasted Emily Symons is out - she was not a very good skater, but it's still a disgrace) and "The Trial Of Tony Blair" (not nearly as controversial I thought it would be, but I still liked Alexander Armstrong's little bit as Conservative leader David Cameron getting down with the kids - what a tit).

After a bit on the computer, and eating bananas and cornflakes and drinking water, I had another wank, this time to "Cathy's Diaries Volume 8". 3 wanks in one day. Good lord! Am I a stud, or what? No wonder Lorraine doesn't want to sleep with me. She must be scared I would wear out her pussy.

Then I went to bed.

With dinner tonight I had another bottle of wine. I am mellow. I am scum. I am low. I am a cunt and I know it.

I will do Sunday tomorrow and add links, etc. "Sleeping Dogs". Mom. My Brother. My Brother's thoughts on Danny Dyer. "The Football Factory".

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Saturday, March 10, 2007

 
I cannot read any blogs whatsoever. To be accurate, I cannot read anything ending .blogspot.com.

Having just had most of a bottle of Blossom Hill, I'm probably not in the best mood to write anything anyway, but this is hardly the point.

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Thursday, March 08, 2007

 
I cannot believe it's Thursday. Somehow I've lost two days.

I've been tagged by Dougzar.

3 Things That Scare Me:
The thought of choking to death.
Losing any member of my family.
Losing hope.

3 People Who Make Me Laugh:
Mr. Stan Laurel.
Mr. Oliver Hardy.
My Brother.

3 Things I Love:
Movies (No shit!)
Lorraine.
My Family.

3 Things I Hate:
My job.
Not having enough money.
Being rejected sexually by Lorraine

3 Things I Don't Understand:
DIY.
Mechanical things.
Women.

3 Things On My Desk:
A Filofax.
A modem.
An old lottery ticket.

3 Things I'm Doing Right Now:
Looking at the computer screen.
Thinking.
Typing.

3 Things I Want To Do Before I Die:
Fuck knows. I cannot think of a single thing that I want to do this weekend, never mind before I die.

3 Things I Can Do:
Touch type.
Read.
Write.

3 Things I Can't Do:
Fly a plane.
Build a nuclear weapon.
Sing like Otis Redding.

3 Things I Think You Should Listen To:
"Come Undone" by Robbie Williams. (I think this is one of Robbie's greatest tracks. I fight the urge to indulge in destructive behaviour and I understand this song completely. I was sorry to hear about Robbie's recent problems. I think he is a great singer and a great entertainer. I hope he comes back with a killer record, wows America and becomes a global superstar. Honestly I do.)
"74-75" by the Connells. (This was #1 on my earworms list for Swiss Toni. I'm still listening to it and it still gives me shivers.)
"Pleasant Valley Sunday" by the Monkees. (In times of trouble I always retreat to the songs I loved when I was a little boy, and when I was a little boy I really loved the Monkees. Still do. This is a great single. One of their best singles)

3 Things You Should Never Listen To:
Arseholes.
Idiots.
Naysayers.

3 Things I'd Like To Learn:
To drive. (Actually I can drive, but I have never actually passed the test.)
To play the bass guitar.
How to use my computer to it's full advantage.

3 Favourite Foods:
Chips.
Curry.
Pasta.

3 Shows I Watched As A Kid:
"Doctor Who"
"Timeslip"
"The Twilight Zone"

3 Bloggers I’ve tagged:
One from each country, methinks.
Stef.
Katy.
Ginny.

This week I turned down the chance to work in America for a couple of months. Denver, to be exact. I also managed to twist it so that Lorraine and her boss were clear that it was the most offensive offer ever made to me.

Remind me. What did I say about fighting the urge to indulge in destructive behaviour?

I'll tell you about it sometime, but not now.

I think that Lorraine and I are pretty much finished.

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Monday, March 05, 2007

 
Loose lips sink ships.

Sister 1 has been talking to my Mom. The subject was me, Lorraine and our problems. (Such as the fact that I am sleeping in a separate room, and that we have not had full sex since 25th December 2005, and that when we take time off from work we take it separately, and that I have sometimes taken to drinking too much, and that I am now imagining a life without Lorraine and the mechanics of achieving such a life. You know all of this except for, maybe, my thoughts of a life without Lorraine in it.)

My Mom has been talking to my Brother, Sister 2, Sister 3 and my mad Aunt.

On Sunday, after the movie (more about that in a minute), I went to see my Mom. My Aunt, my Brother and Sister 2 were also there.

"How are you Son?" says my Mom.

"I'm OK", sez me.

"Not what I heard." says my Mom. "I've been talking to (Sister 1)".

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah." Big pause. "If you're not happy Son, you should get out of there."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. Think about it."

My Aunt nodded sagely. Sister 2 said nothing. My Brother grinned. (He has always disliked Lorraine intensely.)

Yeah.

Later my Brother cornered me in the kitchen. He asked me if I wanted to go out with him this Saturday. (Lorraine is going away on Saturday, for a week. She is visiting her cousin, and then her Brother and his new twins, so other than work, the week will be my own to do with it what I will.) My Brother suggested that we sink a few brews, pick up women and see what happens. Lock up your daughters. The Pynchon boys are in town.

I said that I would think about it, but the answer is going to be No. It's nothing that I want to do. I'd rather stay in and watch the TV.

I should be furious at Sister 1, but I'm not. I'm kind of glad that it is out in the open, or at least out in the family.

My only concern is what my Mom is going to do next. My Mom is of Italian descent. She is... formidable. She is short and old and grey and sweet and deadly, like a Mafia Godmother. My Mom has one concern, and one concern only, and that is the well being of her family. I would go so far as to say that she does not give a flying fuck about anyone else except for her family. We come first. We have always come first.

I could see my Mom phoning Lorraine up and giving her a piece of her mind. Lorraine, also a formidable lady, would not appreciate that. In fact a hit might be ordered. Or a horse's head might be appropriated. (Enough of the Mafia analogies, already.)

My Mom is just worried about me. Perhaps I should call my Mom and have a quiet chat? Yes. I think that that might be wise.

Sunday afternoon. I made some comfort purchases. "Lucky Number Slevin", "United 93", "House Of Sand And Fog" and "9 Songs". Then I went to see "Hot Fuzz". (Finally Hurrah!)



I work with a guy who saw "Hot Fuzz" at a preview screening. He came into work the next day and announced that it was "The best comedy of all time!"

Er... No. It's not the best comedy of all time, but it isn't bad. Yes, it is too long, but it's mostly very funny and I thought (blasphemy!) that it is probably better than "Shaun Of The Dead" (which also wasn't bad, but not as brilliant as everybody thought it was). A riotous piss take, especially towards the end, of those high octane action films that we love and loathe. Lots of great cameos (see if you can spot a very well known Australian Oscar winner) and a great supporting cast of British character actors hamming it up. Great soundtrack of British pop music, as well.

Well worth the visit, I thought. No arseholes in the Cinema, either. Always a bonus.

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Saturday, March 03, 2007

 
I've just read my last post. I think that it was a tad incoherent and the kind of thing that a 14 year old boy would write, not a 43 year old man who should be using grown up language. I think that it is par for the course.

Maybe most people have the same problem as me. If I go to see a film, gig, play, football match, whatever, and it's an event that I have really enjoyed, I find it difficult to verbalise or explain what I liked, except in the most cliched terms. Great, fantastic, fucking fantastic, super dooper, wonderful, marvelous darling, mega, lovely. Language is so difficult and I don't think that I am very good at using it.

I suspect that very many critics don't actually like the stuff they critique. For years I've thought that Barry Norman (the ex-king of TV British film critics) never actually liked very many movies at all and that he was only interested in finding a clever and sarcastic phrase to throw at the punters. I know that he was completely aware of how little his opinion mattered.

Barry Norman used to tell a story about when he reviewed "Confessions Of A Window Cleaner" (a pretty dire early 70's sex comedy, with no redeeming features except that it featured the foxy Linda Hayden, who was in a few really interesting horror films in the 70's) and slated it. The next day Barry was out shopping and got talking to a guy.

"You're Barry Norman off the TV", said the guy.

"I am", said Barry.

"You saw 'Confessions Of A Window Cleaner'", said the guy.

"I did", said Barry.

"That looks like a good film", said the guy. "I might go and see that."

I'm not a critic. I could never be a critic. I find it difficult to say what I think of anything. Recently every post has been a struggle, but I go on...

(The martyr Pynchon nails himself to the cross in his back room. Ow!)

I don't think that I mentioned that I was as pissed as a fart at the Fratellis gig. I wasn't pissed when I arrived at the Carling Academy. I had precisely one bottle of Stella Artois when I met up with Graham. At the Carling Academy I had 3 pints (or was it 4?) I cannot remember. Things are hazy. Suffice to say, I shoved my way to just behind the mixing desk (perfect view), hung on the barrier, and had a great time. At least I didn't blackout or vomit, insult or fight anybody. I was standing next to a girl in Goth makeup who was really attractive. I was old enough to be her Dad.

What was that I wrote about not having to get pissed to enjoy myself? I forget. Actually, I don't. I remember it very well.

So, Wednesday morning I awoke feeling like death, but I took painkillers and went out anyway. I went to see "Blood Diamond".



I was hoping for another powerful African set film like "The Constant Gardener", but "Blood Diamond" is not as good as that, or as affecting or as emotionally resonant. I'll grant you that "Blood Diamond" does have it's moments. It looks wonderful (all burnt browns and oranges) and Djimon Hounsou is truly terrific and gives a very powerful and convincing performance. His Oscar nomination was well deserved. DiCaprio is OK, but I didn't really believe him as an ex mercenary and Jennifer Connolly, as gorgeous as she still is (hello Mr. Shallow), didn't have nearly enough to do.

I only went to see "Blood Diamond" because I thought that it would be gone before this weekend (it hadn't) and that I would be better occupied seeing something serious and not stupid. My other choice was "Hot Fuzz".

Today I saw "The Illusionist". (Sorry "Hot Fuzz".)


There might be some mild spoilers.

The reviews over here have been pretty much up and down on "The Illusionist" but I must confess I really enjoyed it.

Edward Norton is very serious (is he ever anything but serious?), Paul Giamatti is charming and ambiguous, Rufus Sewell is back to his hissable villain best and Jessica Biel gives a performance, rather than just being eye candy. (I never knew she had it in her.) They made the movie happen.

Forget any comparisons with "The Prestige" (a superior film), "The Illusionist" is really an old fashioned twist in the tale thriller, concerned with slight of hand and fooling the audience. What you think is going on might not be what is going on. It's not completely successful. Maybe I've just seen too many movies, because I guessed what was happening about half way through. However, it didn't spoil it. Sometimes the predictable clockwork plot can be comforting. I'll also say that "The Illusionist" looks wonderful. All monochrome, browns and greys. Really atmospheric. Horses, gaslight, smoke and mirrors. I love the whole look of Victorian-era set movies.
Got to go. Time to eat.

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Friday, March 02, 2007

 
Let me try this again. I'll be brief. The moment has passed somewhat.

Tuesday afternoon I met up with Graham for a drink.

Graham is a very nice guy and we had a very nice chat. As it happened it was quite a brief chat (an hour and a bit), because I had a gig to go to, but more about that in a minute. Graham and I talked about this and that and the other. It's worth noting that Graham still holds the opinion that "Moonraker" is a better movie than "The Spy Who Loved Me". Of course this is patently ridiculous, but he is a boy compared to me, so I blessed him, kissed him on the forehead, and forgave him (and also admitted that, perhaps, "The Spy Who Loved Me" is not quite as good as I remembered it, because I watched it over Christmas and found it "slow".)

It was the third time I had met Graham. The first time was about 18 months ago. The second time was a couple of weeks ago when we were part of the group of Bloggers that went to the "Game On" event at the Science Museum in London. My overwhelming impression of that first occasion was that I talked an awful lot. Jesus Christ, I just went on and on. An opinion on every subject under the sun was expressed, regardless of whether I knew anything about the subject or not. Why? I think I wanted to show how clever I was and I was showing off. This time I didn't talk so much and it was way better. I'm finding now that with somebody that I know, and I hope that by now I know Graham quite well, I don't have to show off.

After the drink I went to see the Fratellis at the Carling Academy.



Ah... The two F's. Fucking fantastic. I came out of the gig with a big smile on my face and I cannot remember the last time I did that. A really great gig. A really great party, more like.

Good support band, The Enemy. Most support bands are so polite that I hardly ever notice them. They arrive onstage. They play their songs. They shyly talk to the audience. They mention that their new single is out and suggest that we might like to buy it.

The Enemy? None of that. They swagger on, they plug in and say

"Fookin' Birmingham. Are you here to party?"

and then they literally blasted through their set.

I thought that they were great. Really punk. Quite a bit of Liam Gallagher swagger, truth be told, and the audience loved them. (Ah, the audience. I think that most of them were probably born around the time that Oasis were first troubling the charts, which would make me about 30 years older than most of them. Gulp.)

Then a short break and the Fratellis were up.

Big energy, great tunes, great fun. A mix of indie, glam rock and power pop. I don't know what the fuck you would call it, but it was brilliant. Best gig I've been to for ages. You know what it's like when you go to a gig and you can feel it because the power hits you in the chest? It was like that.

Rather good. Here's the "Chelsea Dagger" video. Rock and Roll and pretty girls. Who can ask for more?



I think I'm getting tired. I'll write what I thought of "Blood Diamond" tomorrow.

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Thursday, March 01, 2007

 
I am feeling better today, but I'm not writing. Back tomorrow. Mr. Graham and the Fratellis deserve a bit more than a couple of lines of drivel and I know that if I try to write anything tonight, it will turn out to be drivel.

By the way, if you're reading, fuck you Mr. Murdoch.

Ciao.

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