The essentialism! It burns!
Our internet connection is mostly broken, and won't be definitely fixed until at least the 24th. We seem to get sporadic access for a few hours a day, which is allowing me to post at the moment; otherwise I'll be posting from work or from my laptop in Wetherspoons. Oh well.
smoke_rising and I went to see Dylan Moran live at the Palace last night. I rarely seem to find stand-up entertaining, especially live, but Moran was a particular disappointment. The entirely forgettable first half consisted only of jokes based on stereotypes; while he managed to convey the fact that he didn't subscribe to the stereotypes he was mentioning, that in and of itself was certainly not enough to create humour. smoke_rising actually fell asleep, whereas I had to entertain myself by thinking about Grassmannian varieties. Which is worse? The second half was only slightly better, burdened by many tedious observational jokes about Mr Moran's perception of differences between men and women, but uplifted by a gleefully malevolent section about the prospect of eating one's difficult coworkers. At the very end he attempted to dive wholesale into surrealism ("Penguins diving into a sea of crisps!") but where Bill Bailey can make that kind of thing flow into the conversation(!) Dylan Moran just falls flat. I can only assume that in Black Books, Moran doesn't write his own lines.
In other news, I've suspended my Facebook account, if you were wondering. I just can't be fucked with it. Sorry everyone.
smoke_rising and I went to see Dylan Moran live at the Palace last night. I rarely seem to find stand-up entertaining, especially live, but Moran was a particular disappointment. The entirely forgettable first half consisted only of jokes based on stereotypes; while he managed to convey the fact that he didn't subscribe to the stereotypes he was mentioning, that in and of itself was certainly not enough to create humour. smoke_rising actually fell asleep, whereas I had to entertain myself by thinking about Grassmannian varieties. Which is worse? The second half was only slightly better, burdened by many tedious observational jokes about Mr Moran's perception of differences between men and women, but uplifted by a gleefully malevolent section about the prospect of eating one's difficult coworkers. At the very end he attempted to dive wholesale into surrealism ("Penguins diving into a sea of crisps!") but where Bill Bailey can make that kind of thing flow into the conversation(!) Dylan Moran just falls flat. I can only assume that in Black Books, Moran doesn't write his own lines.
In other news, I've suspended my Facebook account, if you were wondering. I just can't be fucked with it. Sorry everyone.