It's the devil in the belfry, just dancing in the TV, he's the devil in me. Just the devil in me.
Title explanation: Something that's written on a post-it note which has been attached to my wall when I wasn't looking. I assume it's from Jasmin as it's in her handwriting. Haha. When it got there, I don't know. I assumed it was a Panic! lyric as I remember devils in belfries from Mad As Rabbits, but apparently all but the first line isn't even Panic-esque. I think it's rather fabulous though. And So I added the last two sentences to it. So now it's half Jas and half-me. And this is how En Hiatus songs come about, dans sticky notes, dans my walls. :)
==================================
It's the devil in the belfry,
Just Dancing on the TV,
He's the devil in me,
Just the devil in me, you see.
It's the angel in the mortuary,
Setting fire to gasoline,
No-one pulls off angel like me,
No one can do it just like me, you see.
And as the village awakens,
It seems they're a little too late,
They're lost to the shrapnel abrasions,
Let us leave them to their fate.
==================================
Oh my, I think I got a bit carried away, because I didn't even come here to talk about songs. i came to talk about OPPRESSION, of the highest order which I have been forced to face just minutes, or now about half an hour, ago. After slaving away all day - stopping only to cook myself a well-deserved and veritably gorgeous meal (Quorn-sweet&sour stir fry, no less) - my father finally came home, about half an hour ago now, having visited KFC. Now, the chicken I can live without, obviously - but the smell of chips, I am afraid, is too much for what little self control I possess, to take. So I wanted to cook something to eat, quite understandably, I'm sure you'll agree, but my Dad made a bit fandango about it and prevented any such late-night cheffery from going on, while he stuffed his face with fast-food. I find this rude and mean, especially as he acts like I've just been sat on my arse all day rather than working my pants off! I managed to snaffle some yoghurt (Rachel's! ... It even has my name on it, how fab) of the yummy cherry variety, before being banished hense-forward until morning to my bedroom in which I am now presiding.
==================================
Now I haven't written here for the last week and quite a lot of mild-great interest has happened, including the Boosh-a-thon, the "Messy Rave" and also muchos progressos on the Media Coursework front. I have also, for the time being and, fingers-crossed, the forseeable future, come out of my depressive slump for a bit, and after two-solid weeks and 3 days, I am most appreciative of this... Now where to begin with recountance? In the order things happened over my Easter-weekend? I think so!
====THUH MESSY RAVE======
Sarah-Beth's party, was quite uneventful other than the fact that a girl called Abby (a relatively obnoxious girl, I might add) got on the wrong side of me because she commandeered the music for an excessive majority of the time and decided to use her control to play utter shite. I don't like rap at the best of times, but considering it wasn't my party, it wasn't really for me to complain. But if one guest is going to control the music it seems only fair that the other guests who have to endure it get a say also, don't you think? Now quite a few of the other people were doing quite well putting up with it, and I got a head ache so went to take a breather and sit down outside to get away from the cRap.
A bunch of those sympathetic and understanding of the concept of PROPER music joined me. It was like some sort of peaceful protest. Anyway, a few moments later Spee follows us outside to find out what's up. I make is known, in the most polite way I found possible, that we would appreciate some slightly better music, and Spee, being the nice person that she is, offered us a play-list to pick some songs from.
So we picked three songs, one to suit each of us rebellious types, from the nice little playlist there. I even made effort to pick something people would probably know and like... but half-way through mine and Jasmin's signature song (namedly I Am A Scientist by The Dandy Warhols) this bint Abby goes and changes the CD back to hers. Really did my head in, so much, because Jas and I were just getting into the groove of our signature dance routine - which, as I'm sure you can imagine, is genius. I might add that it wasn't just me flying into the furious zone at this point, but I didn't say anything to the girl (for I feared I might knock her lights out if I did.) Instead we went and changed the song to another, more endurable song. She changed it back, and I couldn't be arsed to argue with her any more... after all, what was the point - I didn't want to ruin Spee's party for her.
So I went to sit outside and fume for a bit, accompanied by Jas, Keddings and Tom. Later there was a bit of a verbal bust-up, which I naturally won because, what I lack in barely-existent skirts and stilettos, I make up in articulacy. So she was pwned. Yet, it has come to my attention that I apparently managed to ruin the party somewhat, according to Spee in a rather heated, and apologetic on my part, MSN conversation. After all, I consider her one of my very best friends - I don't think she considers me the same any more - and one of the only people I would ever apologise to... so that's a tad messed up and I feel quite bad about that.
==================================
Though I don't really see why I care, I don't have to put up with that lot very much any more anyway... and I went in there in a bad mood (I actually had second thoughts about going at all during the day after I got into an argument with Keddings (not that rare of an occurrence) and ended up in what I would have considered before recently to be very uncharacteristic tears. Ah well, bit late now, eh? Mine and Kedding's ballroom-dance routine to the intro of I Write Sins Not Tragedies was the highlight of the evening, obviously.
==================================
As the party occurred on Saturday (coinciding with the BBC3 Boosh-A-Thon) Boosh-Night was transferred to Easter night and was just as amazing as it would have been on Easter Eve, me having successfully avoided spoilers, even if it meant having to overlook various people's LJ entries and lots of community posts - I think I did quite well. Anyhow, Jas came round to sleep-over, the plan being simple: watch the Mighty Boosh until you start talking complete and utter rubbish (more than usual that is - which takes some doing where we're concerned.)
So we watched the documentary and pretty much fell off the bed every time the loverly Rich was being interviewed. He makes me laugh so much - even more than Mssrs. Fielding and Barratt at times. Ahh, good Ol' Bob Fossil (He HAS to have a nice big part in Boosh: The Movie and also in series 4! Rock On!) Loved all the interviews, yes, yes. Especially the inclusion of Mr Brand (join the revolution!) I think we missed the first part of the Documentary because my Sky Box played up - stupid thing. And I feel we may have missed something in the form of RUSSELL BRAND SINGING (!?!) or maybe whoever it was just uploaded it along with Night Golf and Jokey Jokey for japes - either way, it gave me a LITERAL fangirlish nosebleed... with real blood (circa. Sweeney Todd's barber-shop...) it was a proper nosebleed and wouldn't stop for ages, causing great hinderence and mess, coursework and carpet/bedding-wise.
Then there were those amazing links. I actually shrieked (banshee-wise) with incessant GLEE at them completely PWNING Sugar Puffs. That advert with blatant and sickening plagerism/theft/scum/SHITE nearly made me physically throw-up all over my key-board. They should be burnt at the stakes. Maybe I will make an effigy of the Sugar Monster to take with me to the live show when I go with Vicky. We can burn it while we queue outside to keep us warm - how fab would that be. Then we could present Noel and Julian with our thoughts on the matter in the form of the Crystallised Sugar Ashes of aforementioned yellow beast. And the fact that Bob's secret is now out - the fact that now at least 75 people across the nation now know and have videographic evidence that he is not in Vietnam, he will have to go into hiding from Mother F. Haha. He can come and live in my personal cellar. =)
Do I really need to mention how much the phrase 'Apricot Contact Lenses' fills me with joy and gives me a fuzzy warm feeling in my stomach when I imagine Noel standing there with apricot's in his eyes, monocle-style, (or should that be BIcle, if there are two?) speaking in Tony Harrison's voice... come on, that takes talent. Love eet. Him speaking in Old Gregg's voice makes me exceptionally happy, somehow especially so without the make-up... is it wrong that that voice just makes me melt into a gibbering blob of squee?
(Grr. I lost a paragraph just now because my computer could not handle including a fabulous picture of Howard's awesome music-faces. You know the ones, where he is concentrating and getting himself into a Jazz trance... I would show you a picture, but for the fear that it will kill my computer again, and lose the novel I have already written. xD)
Oh, go on then.
I spoil you.
Anyhow. After strutting about the house singing Night Golf - which is VERY catchy, and amusing to strut around singing (especially if said strut collides with the space between your parents and their television set.) we watched some more Booshy episodes, some with commentaries off the DVDs, some out-takes, a few behind-the-scenes bits including the fabulous series two one "I'm a double sided Boosh-Bitch!" closely followed by SWEET. Which is amazing. Fin. (And also caused Jas to make the comment, without even thinking about it "I'd download that just to see his arse!" before bursting out with giggles and japes. She also came to the conclusion, and I quote "I HATE YOU! YOU'VE FORCED ME TO FANCY NOEL FIELDING!" to which I just grinned in wonder and said "It was going to happen some time, I mean, how could you not?" closely followed with a 'confuser' quote. HUZZAH!
Then we decided to take a break from the Boosh (which was impossible as we kept quoting it through out the movie anyway) and watch Stardust, which I had heard about but never seen. It was pretty good, though it kinda sucked that my very favourite character (the Snape-based one! His name was Septimius, I think.) was killed! But then he became an amusing ghost and all sadness was forgotten. After this the world went dark, due to the TV being turned off and Jas and I sat about talking for several hours. Very little of it made any sense, now that I look back at it - but it was deep conversation, the sort I'd imagine you would have if you were smashed on weed or some such drug.
By this I mean I suggested a scenario in which my stomach wanted to throw a party, and Jas explained in complex detail why it would be silly for my stomach to invite my kidneys along to stew in hydrochloric acid for a bit, her main argument for this was that they were needed to filter all the rubbish that would result from what promised to be a fabulous, high-profile-organs-only piss-up, and that it would be much more advisable for my spleen or my appendix to make an appearance instead. She also offered her own kidneys to be guests, but this was shot down by the fact that she needed them almost constantly, and that they were too shy to come without the other in tow.
This conversation flowed onto one about the appendixes of rabbits and cows, and how humans even came to have such a pointless organ in the first place. The theories are many and marvellous, but mine was the truth, dull as it was... and I can't be doing with explaining it now - comment if you are really bothered ( and you shall be showered with gifts for having read this far in my LJ novel-length entry. Huzzah.
I am going to stop writing now, before I rupture something, or die of sleep-lack, which I will inevitably do in 5 hours time. Wish me luck...
PS. MEDIA COURSEWORK C'EEST FINI!
PPS. According to my moodtheme AWAKE = MASSIVE GHEYIST... I can roll with that. 8 )
==================================
It's the devil in the belfry,
Just Dancing on the TV,
He's the devil in me,
Just the devil in me, you see.
It's the angel in the mortuary,
Setting fire to gasoline,
No-one pulls off angel like me,
No one can do it just like me, you see.
And as the village awakens,
It seems they're a little too late,
They're lost to the shrapnel abrasions,
Let us leave them to their fate.
==================================
Oh my, I think I got a bit carried away, because I didn't even come here to talk about songs. i came to talk about OPPRESSION, of the highest order which I have been forced to face just minutes, or now about half an hour, ago. After slaving away all day - stopping only to cook myself a well-deserved and veritably gorgeous meal (Quorn-sweet&sour stir fry, no less) - my father finally came home, about half an hour ago now, having visited KFC. Now, the chicken I can live without, obviously - but the smell of chips, I am afraid, is too much for what little self control I possess, to take. So I wanted to cook something to eat, quite understandably, I'm sure you'll agree, but my Dad made a bit fandango about it and prevented any such late-night cheffery from going on, while he stuffed his face with fast-food. I find this rude and mean, especially as he acts like I've just been sat on my arse all day rather than working my pants off! I managed to snaffle some yoghurt (Rachel's! ... It even has my name on it, how fab) of the yummy cherry variety, before being banished hense-forward until morning to my bedroom in which I am now presiding.
==================================
Now I haven't written here for the last week and quite a lot of mild-great interest has happened, including the Boosh-a-thon, the "Messy Rave" and also muchos progressos on the Media Coursework front. I have also, for the time being and, fingers-crossed, the forseeable future, come out of my depressive slump for a bit, and after two-solid weeks and 3 days, I am most appreciative of this... Now where to begin with recountance? In the order things happened over my Easter-weekend? I think so!
====THUH MESSY RAVE======
Sarah-Beth's party, was quite uneventful other than the fact that a girl called Abby (a relatively obnoxious girl, I might add) got on the wrong side of me because she commandeered the music for an excessive majority of the time and decided to use her control to play utter shite. I don't like rap at the best of times, but considering it wasn't my party, it wasn't really for me to complain. But if one guest is going to control the music it seems only fair that the other guests who have to endure it get a say also, don't you think? Now quite a few of the other people were doing quite well putting up with it, and I got a head ache so went to take a breather and sit down outside to get away from the cRap.
A bunch of those sympathetic and understanding of the concept of PROPER music joined me. It was like some sort of peaceful protest. Anyway, a few moments later Spee follows us outside to find out what's up. I make is known, in the most polite way I found possible, that we would appreciate some slightly better music, and Spee, being the nice person that she is, offered us a play-list to pick some songs from.
So we picked three songs, one to suit each of us rebellious types, from the nice little playlist there. I even made effort to pick something people would probably know and like... but half-way through mine and Jasmin's signature song (namedly I Am A Scientist by The Dandy Warhols) this bint Abby goes and changes the CD back to hers. Really did my head in, so much, because Jas and I were just getting into the groove of our signature dance routine - which, as I'm sure you can imagine, is genius. I might add that it wasn't just me flying into the furious zone at this point, but I didn't say anything to the girl (for I feared I might knock her lights out if I did.) Instead we went and changed the song to another, more endurable song. She changed it back, and I couldn't be arsed to argue with her any more... after all, what was the point - I didn't want to ruin Spee's party for her.
So I went to sit outside and fume for a bit, accompanied by Jas, Keddings and Tom. Later there was a bit of a verbal bust-up, which I naturally won because, what I lack in barely-existent skirts and stilettos, I make up in articulacy. So she was pwned. Yet, it has come to my attention that I apparently managed to ruin the party somewhat, according to Spee in a rather heated, and apologetic on my part, MSN conversation. After all, I consider her one of my very best friends - I don't think she considers me the same any more - and one of the only people I would ever apologise to... so that's a tad messed up and I feel quite bad about that.
==================================
Though I don't really see why I care, I don't have to put up with that lot very much any more anyway... and I went in there in a bad mood (I actually had second thoughts about going at all during the day after I got into an argument with Keddings (not that rare of an occurrence) and ended up in what I would have considered before recently to be very uncharacteristic tears. Ah well, bit late now, eh? Mine and Kedding's ballroom-dance routine to the intro of I Write Sins Not Tragedies was the highlight of the evening, obviously.
==================================
As the party occurred on Saturday (coinciding with the BBC3 Boosh-A-Thon) Boosh-Night was transferred to Easter night and was just as amazing as it would have been on Easter Eve, me having successfully avoided spoilers, even if it meant having to overlook various people's LJ entries and lots of community posts - I think I did quite well. Anyhow, Jas came round to sleep-over, the plan being simple: watch the Mighty Boosh until you start talking complete and utter rubbish (more than usual that is - which takes some doing where we're concerned.)
So we watched the documentary and pretty much fell off the bed every time the loverly Rich was being interviewed. He makes me laugh so much - even more than Mssrs. Fielding and Barratt at times. Ahh, good Ol' Bob Fossil (He HAS to have a nice big part in Boosh: The Movie and also in series 4! Rock On!) Loved all the interviews, yes, yes. Especially the inclusion of Mr Brand (join the revolution!) I think we missed the first part of the Documentary because my Sky Box played up - stupid thing. And I feel we may have missed something in the form of RUSSELL BRAND SINGING (!?!) or maybe whoever it was just uploaded it along with Night Golf and Jokey Jokey for japes - either way, it gave me a LITERAL fangirlish nosebleed... with real blood (circa. Sweeney Todd's barber-shop...) it was a proper nosebleed and wouldn't stop for ages, causing great hinderence and mess, coursework and carpet/bedding-wise.
Then there were those amazing links. I actually shrieked (banshee-wise) with incessant GLEE at them completely PWNING Sugar Puffs. That advert with blatant and sickening plagerism/theft/scum/SHITE nearly made me physically throw-up all over my key-board. They should be burnt at the stakes. Maybe I will make an effigy of the Sugar Monster to take with me to the live show when I go with Vicky. We can burn it while we queue outside to keep us warm - how fab would that be. Then we could present Noel and Julian with our thoughts on the matter in the form of the Crystallised Sugar Ashes of aforementioned yellow beast. And the fact that Bob's secret is now out - the fact that now at least 75 people across the nation now know and have videographic evidence that he is not in Vietnam, he will have to go into hiding from Mother F. Haha. He can come and live in my personal cellar. =)
Do I really need to mention how much the phrase 'Apricot Contact Lenses' fills me with joy and gives me a fuzzy warm feeling in my stomach when I imagine Noel standing there with apricot's in his eyes, monocle-style, (or should that be BIcle, if there are two?) speaking in Tony Harrison's voice... come on, that takes talent. Love eet. Him speaking in Old Gregg's voice makes me exceptionally happy, somehow especially so without the make-up... is it wrong that that voice just makes me melt into a gibbering blob of squee?
(Grr. I lost a paragraph just now because my computer could not handle including a fabulous picture of Howard's awesome music-faces. You know the ones, where he is concentrating and getting himself into a Jazz trance... I would show you a picture, but for the fear that it will kill my computer again, and lose the novel I have already written. xD)
Oh, go on then.
I spoil you.
Anyhow. After strutting about the house singing Night Golf - which is VERY catchy, and amusing to strut around singing (especially if said strut collides with the space between your parents and their television set.) we watched some more Booshy episodes, some with commentaries off the DVDs, some out-takes, a few behind-the-scenes bits including the fabulous series two one "I'm a double sided Boosh-Bitch!" closely followed by SWEET. Which is amazing. Fin. (And also caused Jas to make the comment, without even thinking about it "I'd download that just to see his arse!" before bursting out with giggles and japes. She also came to the conclusion, and I quote "I HATE YOU! YOU'VE FORCED ME TO FANCY NOEL FIELDING!" to which I just grinned in wonder and said "It was going to happen some time, I mean, how could you not?" closely followed with a 'confuser' quote. HUZZAH!
Then we decided to take a break from the Boosh (which was impossible as we kept quoting it through out the movie anyway) and watch Stardust, which I had heard about but never seen. It was pretty good, though it kinda sucked that my very favourite character (the Snape-based one! His name was Septimius, I think.) was killed! But then he became an amusing ghost and all sadness was forgotten. After this the world went dark, due to the TV being turned off and Jas and I sat about talking for several hours. Very little of it made any sense, now that I look back at it - but it was deep conversation, the sort I'd imagine you would have if you were smashed on weed or some such drug.
By this I mean I suggested a scenario in which my stomach wanted to throw a party, and Jas explained in complex detail why it would be silly for my stomach to invite my kidneys along to stew in hydrochloric acid for a bit, her main argument for this was that they were needed to filter all the rubbish that would result from what promised to be a fabulous, high-profile-organs-only piss-up, and that it would be much more advisable for my spleen or my appendix to make an appearance instead. She also offered her own kidneys to be guests, but this was shot down by the fact that she needed them almost constantly, and that they were too shy to come without the other in tow.
This conversation flowed onto one about the appendixes of rabbits and cows, and how humans even came to have such a pointless organ in the first place. The theories are many and marvellous, but mine was the truth, dull as it was... and I can't be doing with explaining it now - comment if you are really bothered ( and you shall be showered with gifts for having read this far in my LJ novel-length entry. Huzzah.
I am going to stop writing now, before I rupture something, or die of sleep-lack, which I will inevitably do in 5 hours time. Wish me luck...
PS. MEDIA COURSEWORK C'EEST FINI!
PPS. According to my moodtheme AWAKE = MASSIVE GHEYIST... I can roll with that. 8 )