"It's all words! Masses and masses of words!"
♥ You know how I posted a day or two ago about Katie getting trapped by Jehovah's Witnesses? Well, I felt a bit bad about it, because she said they were quite nice (which they were, though I had to struggle to restrain myself from shouting out "she's a heathen!" when they asked if she'd thought much about the Bible, but I was wearing a towel and didn't want to involve myself). Until some anonymous bod replied that I could learn something from the Bible, the self-righteousness of which made my instinctive response "fuck off!" Because whilst (a) I believe that there are valuable moral lessons to be learned from the Christian doctrines, viz being nice, I think that actually that's fairly universal and I don't *actually* need the Bible to tell me and (b) um, whatever, stop touting your deluded personal fantasy. I'm sorry, I think people can believe and say what they like about stuff and I'm with Voltaire on the whole not necessarily agreeing but fighting to the death for your right to say it (only, admittedly, less noble and thus only really willing to fight to the mild discomfort and/or slight personal embarrassment), but when it comes down to it I don't believe God exists and therefore any "relationship" anyone has with him is entirely in their heads. Which, whatever, if that works for people, but keep it to yourself (which most people I know do). It's not like I try and involve people in my personal fantasy (viz being secretly descended from the Grand Duchess Anastasia of Russia and thus heir to the Russian throne, as will be proved by my Romanov jewel, purchased very reasonably, and even more mystically, at the Kingston H&M). Well, OK, except for Megan, whom I almost managed to convince. Yes, that's right. I abused her childish trust and belief in me by making her think that one day my £1.99 necklace will fall open to reveal a Faberge jewel that will cement my claim to Russia. Heh.*
♥ On an entirely different note, a new poster has appeared in Baker Street (northern Jubilee line, should anyone be interested. Not that I can really imagine that. Moving on...) for the film The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas. There is a little box on the poster considerately telling me that the film contains scenes of Holocaust, Threat and Terror. Well, thank fuck they told me, frankly, because the picture on the poster of two boys on either side of a CONCENTRATION CAMP FENCE didn't give that one away or anything... FFS, how stupid is the public assumed to be these days? Pah, I say. And I say it vehemently.
♥ Have read a great number of comics recently, including majority of the Bruce Wayne: Murderer/Fugitive storyline (really like the Batman comics - can anyone recommend any good Batman and Nightwing fic? Not slashy, necessarily, just sort of angsty family stuff?). Also, latest issue of Fables - two very enthusiastic thumbs up!
♥ Anyway, you might be asking yourself what I've been up to recently. (Or you might not, but I can't cope with that possibility of no-one caring, so will pretend it could not exist.) So, yep. Um, not much, actually. I tidied my room a little while ago but since then I developed my current art project (a sort of collagey-wall-hanging thing) which is half-finished on the floor, with every single vaguely craft-related item I own silting up the room. The odds of it being spoiled are increasing exponentially (not literally, that was a little bit of hyperbole). So, there's that. We're going to the Bad Film Club this week to see Robocop III which should be a little bit of a treat. That's about it. Ooh, we had a BT line installed on Friday, that was a bit of excitement in the week.
♥ Bah. Mid-September already. Must remember to fashion the remains of Grandma's birthday present and send it. Re my little plan to bop up to Sheff and surprise her, I surreptitiously floated the idea to Grandad and he was dubious on account of Rosie etc and not knowing what they're doing in advance. So on the one hand I want to post it so she has her present for her birthday, and on the other hand want to save it till I next go up so I can see her little face. *making see-one's-little-face-when-receiving-present gesture*
♥ Ooh, totally forgot to mention that on a whim we went to see Tim Minchin at the Bloomsbury the other week, which was really ace (though there's a funny story there, cuz I saw a thing in the paper about it on the Friday, and had a little email conversation with Katie about let's go tonight! and we agreed to do that, and I bought the tickets and was quite excited and we were making plans about meeting etc until I realised that in fact it wasn't till the following Friday, so that was side-splittingly funny but fortunately worked out OK despite my own stupidity and inability to know what the date is), though I was nearly late because the Gower St Waterstones is there, and I got sucked in by the books. So, yes. Tim Minchin. Katie discovered him back when Mark Watson made the world substantially better and made me listen too. He writes songs (and then performs them. Obviously). They are funny. And ace. And on Youtube. Go and watch. Or go and see him live, which was much better. Also, I wrote a pome (which was nice, on account of having lost my pome-fu! 0.o Like my fic-fu and my computer-genius-fu... I am fu-less. Fu-free. Sans-fu. Tragique), because that seemed an appropriate medium:
Pome, or, I tried to think of a genius title but failed
Good Lord, Tim is a legend
A rock star god for sure
He sings and plays with flashy lights
And leaves us wanting more
But here's the really clever part
It's not all sex and tears
Or how his woman done him wrong
Like Timberlake or Spears
His lyrics aren't banal and
His novelty's fantastic
(Though for sex I'd stick to Barry White
Unless your girl is plastic)
He gets the joy of Darwin
And the beauty of statistics
And plays up to our worst taboos
Then flicks them with elastic
But that elastic's metaphorical
For with words he's quite sublime
Whilst his music's not too dusty
Tim Minchin: he can rhyme!
My god, I actually will one day become the next poet laureate. I can see it now. Please don't interfere with my personal fantasy by commenting on the pathetic attempts at rhyming with words that don't quite fit. Or that it's crap. I just want my fu back!! *g*
So, my confession. Picture the scene. Friday evening. Alone. Performing, once again, the mindless refresh of the sofa-bound fandom whore. I had a Pimm's. It got quite late. Katie had come home and then gone to bed. I was, as the old proverb says, like a child, dizzy on lemonade, only in my case it was a Pimm's and the excitement of it being a weekend and the fact that I can get a bit high on, um, air. Any filter there was between my brain and my typing fingers had long since evaporated (yes, my filter is usually liquid, for those of you pedantic enough to notice). And I might have gone on Tim Minchin's website and left him a rambly email about liking his music. I wrote quite a lot of bollocks which I now cannot 100% remember. There were several post scripts. And a lot of parentheses. Oh yes indeed. Feel my shame. Feel it burn. Here ends my confession.
Anyway, I'm going to go to bed again. I woke up at about two in a bit of a bedlinen tangle and couldn't sleep, but I've gone tired again. I'm never going to be up in time in the morning, and Emma will have yet another reason to bully me. I didn't mention, did I, that in the course of my day's BT-man-leave on Friday, she called me three times merely to bully me? You've actually got to give her kudos for the kind of persistent hard work she puts into it... *g* Apparently Roman brought in jaffa cakes, and I missed them. :(
* Actually, I must sadly confess that I didn't entirely succeed in making her believe my little tale of intrigue and romance. She remained mostly sceptical till the end.
♥ On an entirely different note, a new poster has appeared in Baker Street (northern Jubilee line, should anyone be interested. Not that I can really imagine that. Moving on...) for the film The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas. There is a little box on the poster considerately telling me that the film contains scenes of Holocaust, Threat and Terror. Well, thank fuck they told me, frankly, because the picture on the poster of two boys on either side of a CONCENTRATION CAMP FENCE didn't give that one away or anything... FFS, how stupid is the public assumed to be these days? Pah, I say. And I say it vehemently.
♥ Have read a great number of comics recently, including majority of the Bruce Wayne: Murderer/Fugitive storyline (really like the Batman comics - can anyone recommend any good Batman and Nightwing fic? Not slashy, necessarily, just sort of angsty family stuff?). Also, latest issue of Fables - two very enthusiastic thumbs up!
♥ Anyway, you might be asking yourself what I've been up to recently. (Or you might not, but I can't cope with that possibility of no-one caring, so will pretend it could not exist.) So, yep. Um, not much, actually. I tidied my room a little while ago but since then I developed my current art project (a sort of collagey-wall-hanging thing) which is half-finished on the floor, with every single vaguely craft-related item I own silting up the room. The odds of it being spoiled are increasing exponentially (not literally, that was a little bit of hyperbole). So, there's that. We're going to the Bad Film Club this week to see Robocop III which should be a little bit of a treat. That's about it. Ooh, we had a BT line installed on Friday, that was a bit of excitement in the week.
♥ Bah. Mid-September already. Must remember to fashion the remains of Grandma's birthday present and send it. Re my little plan to bop up to Sheff and surprise her, I surreptitiously floated the idea to Grandad and he was dubious on account of Rosie etc and not knowing what they're doing in advance. So on the one hand I want to post it so she has her present for her birthday, and on the other hand want to save it till I next go up so I can see her little face. *making see-one's-little-face-when-receiving-present gesture*
♥ Ooh, totally forgot to mention that on a whim we went to see Tim Minchin at the Bloomsbury the other week, which was really ace (though there's a funny story there, cuz I saw a thing in the paper about it on the Friday, and had a little email conversation with Katie about let's go tonight! and we agreed to do that, and I bought the tickets and was quite excited and we were making plans about meeting etc until I realised that in fact it wasn't till the following Friday, so that was side-splittingly funny but fortunately worked out OK despite my own stupidity and inability to know what the date is), though I was nearly late because the Gower St Waterstones is there, and I got sucked in by the books. So, yes. Tim Minchin. Katie discovered him back when Mark Watson made the world substantially better and made me listen too. He writes songs (and then performs them. Obviously). They are funny. And ace. And on Youtube. Go and watch. Or go and see him live, which was much better. Also, I wrote a pome (which was nice, on account of having lost my pome-fu! 0.o Like my fic-fu and my computer-genius-fu... I am fu-less. Fu-free. Sans-fu. Tragique), because that seemed an appropriate medium:
Pome, or, I tried to think of a genius title but failed
Good Lord, Tim is a legend
A rock star god for sure
He sings and plays with flashy lights
And leaves us wanting more
But here's the really clever part
It's not all sex and tears
Or how his woman done him wrong
Like Timberlake or Spears
His lyrics aren't banal and
His novelty's fantastic
(Though for sex I'd stick to Barry White
Unless your girl is plastic)
He gets the joy of Darwin
And the beauty of statistics
And plays up to our worst taboos
Then flicks them with elastic
But that elastic's metaphorical
For with words he's quite sublime
Whilst his music's not too dusty
Tim Minchin: he can rhyme!
My god, I actually will one day become the next poet laureate. I can see it now. Please don't interfere with my personal fantasy by commenting on the pathetic attempts at rhyming with words that don't quite fit. Or that it's crap. I just want my fu back!! *g*
So, my confession. Picture the scene. Friday evening. Alone. Performing, once again, the mindless refresh of the sofa-bound fandom whore. I had a Pimm's. It got quite late. Katie had come home and then gone to bed. I was, as the old proverb says, like a child, dizzy on lemonade, only in my case it was a Pimm's and the excitement of it being a weekend and the fact that I can get a bit high on, um, air. Any filter there was between my brain and my typing fingers had long since evaporated (yes, my filter is usually liquid, for those of you pedantic enough to notice). And I might have gone on Tim Minchin's website and left him a rambly email about liking his music. I wrote quite a lot of bollocks which I now cannot 100% remember. There were several post scripts. And a lot of parentheses. Oh yes indeed. Feel my shame. Feel it burn. Here ends my confession.
Anyway, I'm going to go to bed again. I woke up at about two in a bit of a bedlinen tangle and couldn't sleep, but I've gone tired again. I'm never going to be up in time in the morning, and Emma will have yet another reason to bully me. I didn't mention, did I, that in the course of my day's BT-man-leave on Friday, she called me three times merely to bully me? You've actually got to give her kudos for the kind of persistent hard work she puts into it... *g* Apparently Roman brought in jaffa cakes, and I missed them. :(
* Actually, I must sadly confess that I didn't entirely succeed in making her believe my little tale of intrigue and romance. She remained mostly sceptical till the end.