MJ v. JB

Whoa, check out the number of abbreviations in the title of this!

Yeah, abbreviations FTW!

Are you impressed? ty.

 

When you walk past people who are talking in a rather animated fashion about some unknown topic (that, or a subdued one – so basically just talking) do you feel that unexplainable urge to know said topic? I do. And I think most people would feel the same. It’s the natural curiosity that comes with having more brain cells than a squirrel. But the fact is, despite the lack of context, those few lines one picks up when drifting slowly past a conversing group of unknowns tends to spark a new conversation, whether with someone else or yourself in your head. Of course if you’re me, with yourself out loud. Or the unknowns out loud. Not the unknowns in your head though.

There is a point to this tangent, I promise. And, it ties fabulously in with the earlier abbreviating.

I realise that by saying that I’ve given any unfortunate  reader something called ‘expectation’. Bad idea.

Anyway, I was walking past a group of girls (about thirteen years old if I had to guess) who were discussing – or maybe ‘debating’ would be a more fitting description of what they were doing – a certain tattooed(?), floppy-haired teen heartthrob. Yes, that’s right; Justin Bieber.

Now, I’m not here to share my opinions on him because to be honest, I have none. I couldn’t care less what he does and doesn’t do. I’m not his mother.

Or his boyfriend*

So, as I was walking past, I chuckled quietly to myself at the subject over which they were arguing, That was, though, until I heard something that made me come to a horror-struck halt. One of them had the nerve to say this…

“Well, at least Justin Bieber can sing! Unlike that Michael Jackson!!”

OMG, I was horrified.

I couldn’t ignore the comment.

So, I turned round and forcefully joined their debate. I argued strongly and passionately, sending them into a bit of a stunned silence. Though, I’ll admit, that may have been to do with the fact that I had jumped spontaneously into their conversation at all.

I honestly don’t understand how they can compare the two, let alone say that JB beats MJ. WTF?!

 

Hey, I just realised something. JB is a white sixteen-year-old who got invited to the black music awards. Identity crisis? MJ was a black child who grew into a white man. Identity crisis. And both can somehow be blamed on the world’s intolerance.

 

So yeah…G2G.

 

*Just as a side note/disclaimer to save myself from hate mail, I know nothing of Justin Bieber’s sexuality and I’m particularly impartial towards it. This comment was not based on opinion, evidence or anything as staple. Purely on other people’s opinions and jibes that I felt the need to bring up here due to an incredible opportunity. I couldn’t exactly pass it up, it’s like the joke wrote itself.

Inception

Ok, so I went to see Inception the other day – you know, the film that’s been getting pretty much all round amazing reviews and and has been described as “like The Matrix mated with Synecdoche, New York — or a Charlie Kaufman 007”. I think it’s safe to say the critics like it.

And, if I’m honest, I can’t help but agree with them. Obviously, as with most films, it had its flaws (the continuously prominent, and somewhat overbearing, brass section that made up the soundtrack being one point). I mean, I hate to agree with people, but I loved it. It was on of those films that you can walk out of feeling all high-and-mighty because you’ve gotten in touch with your ‘inner philosopher’. And due to my horrendously large ego, I love my inner philosopher. There’s something so satisfying about a film that makes you feel as though you’ve actually gained some sort of insight into the working of the world, no matter how untenable said insight may be.

The details of the film were it’s greatest strength and it’s most textbook weakness. The fact that there were so many vital points thrown in as nonchalantly as a you like makes the film a difficulty for those who find a trip to the cinema as a chance to not have to think. The fact that the film requires strict concentration throughout paired with the - in my opinion, all too frequent - car chases, explosions and fight scenes, makes it a struggle to understand quite what is wanted of yourself as an audience member before the credits roll.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’ve said I loved the film, but I think that the psychological depth to it could have been further explored. Leonardo DiCaprio plays his part superbly and alongside Marion Cotillard, it’s impossible for anyone to not feel the pain and confusion along with them. The constant fighting took away from this and wasn’t needed. Large action scenes tend to drive viewers into a state of half-watching where they’re observing the action, but not processing the happenings and throwing twists into the middle of these brought on a whole new level (no pun intended) to the term ‘juxtaposition’. One that can become a little too much at points.

Overall, however, despite my mocking and critique, I know for a fact I will most definitely be watching Inception again and enjoying it as much, if not more, than the first time around. Christopher Nolan is the very essence of creativity and the way he binds together the science fiction with the thriller creates two hours and twenty-eight minutes of excitement, suspense, and more than anything, a dream-like escape from reality.

Where’s Wally? …mocking me.

I have a theory.

I have established that the ability to find Wally in the books ‘Where’s Wally’ (or for those Americanised souls among us, Waldo in ‘Where’s Waldo’) slowly but surely deteriorates with every year we live.

I say this because I used to be great at it, but I find that as I grow older, it takes me longer and longer to find that annoyingly stripy little man. Now I know you may dismiss my troubles, putting it down to lack of interest or something else just as, if not more, trivial and ordinary.

But, this is wrong. For a start, I’m incredibly competitive so when my seven-year-old cousin challenges me to a game of ‘who can find Wally first’, I want to win. Forget the fact that as the older and wiser (clearly not when it comes to finding Wally though) of us I should be nice and let her win so as to avoid upset - something I often do, yet am always happy knowing in my own little mind that I’ve won, an idea from which I get a worryingly large sense of pleasure. But this time, I just couldn’t find Wally! And when I handed my baton over to my brother, he had even more trouble than me. The book was then passed from person to person within our family; uncles, aunts, sons, grandmothers, the whole shebang. Through the careful observation of these many different people of many different ages attempting to find Wally, I have come to the conclusion that the older one is, the harder the quest for Wally.

And that, is why Wally always wears that smug little grin that you only begin to notice once you pass the age of thirteen and becomes more and more obvious and more and more mocking with every year you age.

And to be honest, the hat’s just silly.

Why do people say, "Ta very much"?

Is that not just saying, "Thanks a lot very much"?


Double emphasis anyone?
Crazy!

Uptown Girl

 

She sat at the bar, staring into the brown liquid in the glass before her.  Her eyes were glazed over with the tears – the only indication that she was any more than a shell - that had not yet spilt down her pale cheeks. Her hair was tangled and knotted, the expensive dress she wore, creased. Yet, despite her current appearance, she possessed an obvious air of elegance about her and it was clear that, at a point in the evening, she had been the very epitome of class and sophistication. The opposite of what one would expect to find in a dirty little back-street bar. A true ‘uptown girl’.

The only other customers were a group of middle-aged men in suits occupying a small booth in the corner - all far too intoxicated to consider this woman may be anything more than a game that got more exciting with each wolf-whistle and cat-call ignored.

The barman stood leaning against a dirty wall, far away from the woman. His grey face holding dilated pupils above large purple bruises.

As she slowly moved her hand towards her drink, the the tears finally fell and she grabbed her glass, throwing back her head and downing its contents. She then stood and glided, gracefully out of the door.

The next day, press surrounded the home of a well-loved socialite, all hoping for a glimpse of the body for their front page.