Sunday, January 27, 2008
Sometimes you just have to get on with living a life rather than writing about living a life.
So...
The situation with John Rodent has progressed, somewhat. It is all down to Lorraine and the steps she took on Friday. I will write about that next time.
I am tired.
So...
- Shopping.
- Cleaning.
- Feeding the birds in my back garden.
- Spending money that I do not have. (Tickets for The Pigeon Detectives at the Carling Academy, Portishead at Wolverhampton Civic Hall, Goldfrapp at the Symphony Hall, Boston's first album, Portishead's live album, newspapers and magazines).
- Movies. ("The Savages", "In The Valley Of Elah" and loads and loads of movies on the TV. I will write a couple of little reviews of "The Savages" and "In The Valley Of Elah", probably tomorrow.)
- Fighting with Lorraine.
- Making up with Lorraine. (Not a code for having sex with Lorraine, because I do not bother to ask anymore. Why bother when I know what the answer is going to be?)
- Complaining about the heat.
- Complaining about the cold.
- Dozing off.
- Waking up again.
- Getting drunk.
- Regretting getting drunk.
The situation with John Rodent has progressed, somewhat. It is all down to Lorraine and the steps she took on Friday. I will write about that next time.
I am tired.
Labels: Arguments, Drinking, Lorraine, Movies
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Tedious? Yes. Sure is. Especially when it is me who causes the fight. Let me explain.
Last night I had a plan. Get home from the cinema ("30 Days Of Night", which I will go into in a minute) sometime around 5pm. Chill for half an hour. 5:30pm. Cook for 35 minutes. (10 minutes to heat the oven, 25 minutes to cook the breaded chicken and prepare the salad.) 6:05pm. Eat food. 6:20pm. Chill with Lorraine for 25 minutes. 6:45pm. Disappear upstairs to watch "The X-Factor". (Lorraine has expressed a mighty disinterest in watching it this year, so I go upstairs to watch it on the TV in the front bedroom. Sue me. I like "The X-Factor". I find it entertaining.)
Last night the plan was ruined. Why? Because Lorraine decided to strip all of the beds and wash the sheets.
I explained to Lorraine, between gritted teeth, that if I was going to be going upstairs to watch "The X-Factor", as she insists that it is a piece of shit and would rather watch that other piece of shit called "Robin Hood", I would have to make my bed before doing so, as I refuse to lie on a bed that is unmade. (Yes, I did say 'my bed'. I am still banished to the front bedroom. 11 months now and counting and, No, I didn't think it would go on so long.) I pointed out that if I had to make my bed it would probably take me some time, because I was not yet over the cold (sniffles, breathlessness and generally feeling shit), I would not be able to cook beforehand and so we would be eating later.
I could say there were words, but that would not be correct. It was actually a very quiet evening. The quiet of the post apocalyptic landscape.
I made my bed. I watched "The X-Factor". In the 45 minutes between the main show and the results show I cooked the food and ate the food. (Lorraine picked at it.) I went back upstairs and watched the results show. I went downstairs to find Lorraine watching "High School Musical" (which I have never seen, and the 10 minutes of it that I did see convinced me that I have no wish to ever see it again) despite the fact that earlier we had decided to watch something on the DVD, so I came up here, did a quick (mysterious?) post and went to bed.
I regret it. I could have followed the original plan. There was time to cook. I could have just flung a duvet over my bed and lay on that watching "The X-Factor" and made the bed later, but I didn't want to. I just wanted to argue and make a point. No wonder Lorraine is sick of me. I am pretty sick of myself. I am not a nice person.
********
"30 Days Of Night".
Barrow, Alaska. The most Northerly town in the United States. During the longest night of the year (er... that would be the '30 days of night' of the title) a group of vampires descend on the town, feeding on everyone that they can find. A group of people, led by an young sheriff, fight to survive the onslaught. Will these people make it until daybreak? Ah... Well that is the question. You will have to see the movie to find out, won't you?
Frankly, I think the above setup for a horror movie is absolutely fantastic and brilliant and original (until somebody tells me that it has been done before) and I was really looking forward to seeing it. Plenty of scope for an full blooded "Dawn Of The Dead" battle-for-survival-against-incredible-odds, kind of a movie. It is such a shame that the execution of the idea left so much to be desired.
Yes, the vampires are truly fantastic creations. Evil, gross, vicious, animal like mutations. Danny Huston, as their (Hungarian speaking?) almost philosophical leader, is great and made me shiver every time he appeared onscreen. There is wonderful cinematography, in the latter stages focusing on the white of the snow and the red of the blood, and some brilliant scene construction, showing at a distance the carnage and mayhem on the ground. But, sadly and possibly inevitably, "30 Days Of Night" commits the cardinal sin of any horror movie. When the monsters' are not onscreen, it is really boring and slow.
Maybe it is down to the cast. I don't know. I didn't find them interesting. "Hard Candy" proves that David Slade can direct a pacy, interesting film with a minimal cast, when that cast is good. (That film is practically a two hander throughout.) I must say that even as a longstanding Josh Harnett apologist (I like him, really I do), I felt that his performance this time is particularly vacant and definitely nothing to write home about.
"30 Days Of Night" is not terrible, but it is not what it could have been.
Last night I had a plan. Get home from the cinema ("30 Days Of Night", which I will go into in a minute) sometime around 5pm. Chill for half an hour. 5:30pm. Cook for 35 minutes. (10 minutes to heat the oven, 25 minutes to cook the breaded chicken and prepare the salad.) 6:05pm. Eat food. 6:20pm. Chill with Lorraine for 25 minutes. 6:45pm. Disappear upstairs to watch "The X-Factor". (Lorraine has expressed a mighty disinterest in watching it this year, so I go upstairs to watch it on the TV in the front bedroom. Sue me. I like "The X-Factor". I find it entertaining.)
Last night the plan was ruined. Why? Because Lorraine decided to strip all of the beds and wash the sheets.
I explained to Lorraine, between gritted teeth, that if I was going to be going upstairs to watch "The X-Factor", as she insists that it is a piece of shit and would rather watch that other piece of shit called "Robin Hood", I would have to make my bed before doing so, as I refuse to lie on a bed that is unmade. (Yes, I did say 'my bed'. I am still banished to the front bedroom. 11 months now and counting and, No, I didn't think it would go on so long.) I pointed out that if I had to make my bed it would probably take me some time, because I was not yet over the cold (sniffles, breathlessness and generally feeling shit), I would not be able to cook beforehand and so we would be eating later.
I could say there were words, but that would not be correct. It was actually a very quiet evening. The quiet of the post apocalyptic landscape.
I made my bed. I watched "The X-Factor". In the 45 minutes between the main show and the results show I cooked the food and ate the food. (Lorraine picked at it.) I went back upstairs and watched the results show. I went downstairs to find Lorraine watching "High School Musical" (which I have never seen, and the 10 minutes of it that I did see convinced me that I have no wish to ever see it again) despite the fact that earlier we had decided to watch something on the DVD, so I came up here, did a quick (mysterious?) post and went to bed.
I regret it. I could have followed the original plan. There was time to cook. I could have just flung a duvet over my bed and lay on that watching "The X-Factor" and made the bed later, but I didn't want to. I just wanted to argue and make a point. No wonder Lorraine is sick of me. I am pretty sick of myself. I am not a nice person.
********
"30 Days Of Night".
Barrow, Alaska. The most Northerly town in the United States. During the longest night of the year (er... that would be the '30 days of night' of the title) a group of vampires descend on the town, feeding on everyone that they can find. A group of people, led by an young sheriff, fight to survive the onslaught. Will these people make it until daybreak? Ah... Well that is the question. You will have to see the movie to find out, won't you?
Frankly, I think the above setup for a horror movie is absolutely fantastic and brilliant and original (until somebody tells me that it has been done before) and I was really looking forward to seeing it. Plenty of scope for an full blooded "Dawn Of The Dead" battle-for-survival-against-incredible-odds, kind of a movie. It is such a shame that the execution of the idea left so much to be desired.
Yes, the vampires are truly fantastic creations. Evil, gross, vicious, animal like mutations. Danny Huston, as their (Hungarian speaking?) almost philosophical leader, is great and made me shiver every time he appeared onscreen. There is wonderful cinematography, in the latter stages focusing on the white of the snow and the red of the blood, and some brilliant scene construction, showing at a distance the carnage and mayhem on the ground. But, sadly and possibly inevitably, "30 Days Of Night" commits the cardinal sin of any horror movie. When the monsters' are not onscreen, it is really boring and slow.
Maybe it is down to the cast. I don't know. I didn't find them interesting. "Hard Candy" proves that David Slade can direct a pacy, interesting film with a minimal cast, when that cast is good. (That film is practically a two hander throughout.) I must say that even as a longstanding Josh Harnett apologist (I like him, really I do), I felt that his performance this time is particularly vacant and definitely nothing to write home about.
"30 Days Of Night" is not terrible, but it is not what it could have been.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Let me tell you about what a nice guy yours truly really is.
All day yesterday I was on a course learning about data manipulation software. It was not at all boring. In fact it was really interesting. I learnt a lot, made some really good notes and came out of the course in a really good mood.
The mood didn't last.
I got back to my desk with an hour of the working day still to go. Plenty to do, but I felt I could cram quite a bit of work into an hour. I was up for it.
Except that I couldn't log on to any of the external sites.
I asked if somebody had been messing about with the modems. I got indifference.
I asked again. Had somebody been messing with the modems? Somebody said that they thought somebody had been under my desk doing something (isn't that a great sentence?), but that it shouldn't have affected me.
I said that I was affected. Could somebody sort it out? Please?
Lorraine suggested that I have a look for myself.
And I did have a look for myself. Hardware, cables, modems, printers, mouses, routers, phone sockets, wireless, blingimigs, woofers, tweeters, blodgers, marfarrrrs, eekephips. Machines. These are not my bag. These are not things that I am happy with. I sweat when I have to plug in and mess about with machines. I don't like doing it. I especially do not like making a fool of myself at work with machines especially when there is a dedicated (hah!) section, the Internal Infrastructure Team, to do it for people like me.
Then Lorraine said, "We always have to baby you along, don't we?"
I fucking exploded. In front of everybody. In front of the whole office. Well, by that time it was 17:30 and the mass rush for the exit had started, so it wasn't everybody who witnessed the Pynchon meltdown. I ranted and I raved and I banged the desk with anger.
Something had fucking changed. Someone had stopped me doing my work. Somebody had gotten in my way. Somebody should take responsibility. All I wanted was help to do my fucking work and all I was getting was indifference. Like our customers. Like everybody that The Fucking Company deal with. I could see the James Cunt in his office. He heard what I said.
Lorraine was very red in the face. She said some things and I said some things and a guy who was going to give Lorraine and me a lift home quietly disappeared. I don't blame him. He probably thought we would start punching each other in his car.
Eventually, after a very quiet journey on the bus, we got home and started again.
Lorraine said that I had shown her up in front of everybody. She said that I had embarrassed her. She said that work was bad enough as it was without me being a bastard. She said that if she let me get away with it, I was giving all of her staff carte blanch to talk to her how the hell they wanted. I said that I really didn't give a fuck.
But... She was right.
I regret it. I could have handled it a lot better. I could have chosen not to lose my temper. You can choose to do that, you know. I know that sometimes I have anger problems, but it rarely turns into a red mist moment. My Mom has told me that my Dad used to have those a lot when he had been drinking.
You can choose not to be an arsehole and that's what I have become.
Before stopping to watch "C.S.I. Crime Scene Investigation" and "Smith" I listened to "In Utero" by Nirvana on my MP3 player. I am pretty certain that the last time I listened to that album was the evening in 1994 that Sister 3 had her abortion. I paid for that abortion. She asked me for the money because nobody else would help her out. Maybe "In Utero" is my severe crisis album?
Yes, I am a really nice guy. A really fine piece of work.
(By the way, when I got into work this morning the connectivity on my PC was fine. Lorraine had crawled under my desk and sorted it out. That really made me feel good. Nothing else was said at work by anybody. Pynchon survives, but it will be a blessed relief if I am sacked.)
All day yesterday I was on a course learning about data manipulation software. It was not at all boring. In fact it was really interesting. I learnt a lot, made some really good notes and came out of the course in a really good mood.
The mood didn't last.
I got back to my desk with an hour of the working day still to go. Plenty to do, but I felt I could cram quite a bit of work into an hour. I was up for it.
Except that I couldn't log on to any of the external sites.
I asked if somebody had been messing about with the modems. I got indifference.
I asked again. Had somebody been messing with the modems? Somebody said that they thought somebody had been under my desk doing something (isn't that a great sentence?), but that it shouldn't have affected me.
I said that I was affected. Could somebody sort it out? Please?
Lorraine suggested that I have a look for myself.
And I did have a look for myself. Hardware, cables, modems, printers, mouses, routers, phone sockets, wireless, blingimigs, woofers, tweeters, blodgers, marfarrrrs, eekephips. Machines. These are not my bag. These are not things that I am happy with. I sweat when I have to plug in and mess about with machines. I don't like doing it. I especially do not like making a fool of myself at work with machines especially when there is a dedicated (hah!) section, the Internal Infrastructure Team, to do it for people like me.
Then Lorraine said, "We always have to baby you along, don't we?"
I fucking exploded. In front of everybody. In front of the whole office. Well, by that time it was 17:30 and the mass rush for the exit had started, so it wasn't everybody who witnessed the Pynchon meltdown. I ranted and I raved and I banged the desk with anger.
Something had fucking changed. Someone had stopped me doing my work. Somebody had gotten in my way. Somebody should take responsibility. All I wanted was help to do my fucking work and all I was getting was indifference. Like our customers. Like everybody that The Fucking Company deal with. I could see the James Cunt in his office. He heard what I said.
Lorraine was very red in the face. She said some things and I said some things and a guy who was going to give Lorraine and me a lift home quietly disappeared. I don't blame him. He probably thought we would start punching each other in his car.
Eventually, after a very quiet journey on the bus, we got home and started again.
Lorraine said that I had shown her up in front of everybody. She said that I had embarrassed her. She said that work was bad enough as it was without me being a bastard. She said that if she let me get away with it, I was giving all of her staff carte blanch to talk to her how the hell they wanted. I said that I really didn't give a fuck.
But... She was right.
I regret it. I could have handled it a lot better. I could have chosen not to lose my temper. You can choose to do that, you know. I know that sometimes I have anger problems, but it rarely turns into a red mist moment. My Mom has told me that my Dad used to have those a lot when he had been drinking.
You can choose not to be an arsehole and that's what I have become.
Before stopping to watch "C.S.I. Crime Scene Investigation" and "Smith" I listened to "In Utero" by Nirvana on my MP3 player. I am pretty certain that the last time I listened to that album was the evening in 1994 that Sister 3 had her abortion. I paid for that abortion. She asked me for the money because nobody else would help her out. Maybe "In Utero" is my severe crisis album?
Yes, I am a really nice guy. A really fine piece of work.
(By the way, when I got into work this morning the connectivity on my PC was fine. Lorraine had crawled under my desk and sorted it out. That really made me feel good. Nothing else was said at work by anybody. Pynchon survives, but it will be a blessed relief if I am sacked.)
Labels: Arguments, Computers, Lorraine, Stress
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.
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.
Labels: Arguments, Lorraine, Movies
