REBOOT

To say I’ve neglected this blog would be an understatement similar to saying that Armageddon is a little bit of a bicker at the end of the day. Because of my complete and utter incompetence in regards to this space, I don’t feel that I can just pick up and carry on with a pathetic apology post. I need a complete and utter reboot.

Imagine binary and hieroglyphics spinning in front of your eyes, glowing and zooming almost magnetically into perfectly shaped and fitted holes in the threads of reality.
And now imagine me changing the layout about a bit and writing a string of slightly different but far more affiliated posts.
I’ll admit, the latter is far more likely to happen, despite severely lacking in ‘awesome-factor’.

So, prepare yourselves for something far less exciting than I’ve made out.
Time for a new start.

Cow pun ON a cow…Oh yes!

Penalisation? Yes.
I think I've definitely let myself down with the complete and utter lack of updates for the last few months. Yes, months!
The truth is, I've had exams and coursework and multiple other things going on that have succeeded in dragging me, kicking and screaming, onto the road of procrastination.
I must admit, I've trodden this road before - many a time in fact - and am rather familiar with the landmarks. But I'm slowly but surely edging into the foliage and off of the beaten path so shall be back very soon.
This particular post is, admittedly, a little bit of a filler because, frankly, I am still completely and utterly failing to get all of my work done. But I have ideas for a few nice, bulky rants that I shall be pulling together as soon as I get a spare moment...so something to look forward to, eh?
Luckily, however, procrastinating from one thing means progressing in another, so I - in the time I really should have used to catch up on graphics coursework - have drawn a picture of the image that popped into my mind when writing this. Enjoy.

The ‘No Idea’ Post

I feel this post is likely to rapidly deteriorate into a disjointed jumble of words. The fact that I’ve accepted this before beginning, however, means less expectation and thus less disappointment – something I, as ever, am all for.

I’m going to attempt to stumble my way through regardless, purely because I’m in the mood to write and feel this cluster of pixels is in need of something new.

My problem now is that I’ve approached this post very differently to how I usually would. I have no idea.

 

As a philosophy, I tend to regard the world with a certain amount of ‘Pleh’.

(Pleh: the onomatopoeia I have recently dubbed as “that which can be used when a situation demanding a response that exudes indifference and the subject of which is in need of casual dismissal arises”

…if I were to use the noise ‘pleh’ in real life, I imagine my face would look something like the image above. Hopefully less round, bald, and made of lines though.)

If ever I come across something that has the chance of becoming the inspiration or ideas behind any sort of creative creation, I tend to end up oblivious to it and instead pick up on the things that have absolutely no possible way of helping the right side of my brain to get into action.

I have multiple long lists of subject matters and snippets of strangers’ conversations that intrigued me at the time, but now, when I feel I want to expand on something, there is nothing.

Now this may just be a temporary funk, but I can’t help but that think that maybe the world has lost its cinnamon.

Rest assured, I’m certain that I’ll wake up tomorrow, take a big bite out of the apple pie and feel my taste buds explode with flavour, but for now, there seems to be something missing.

Over my (few) years of life, I’ve decided that my frequent dips into this mindset are the result of a new, and technically undiagnosed, mental state I like to call ‘Fluctuating Cynicism With An Unhealthy Attachment To Desserts ’.

During moments of weakness and media-susceptibility, I have taken part in quizzes to diagnose myself mentally, all of which came out with some rather worrying results, some implying I have the ability to become an axe murderer. This enlightenment concerning my unstable state of mind made me, being the smart ass I am, set on deciding my own condition – who better to claim there’s something wrong with your brain than the one who has to live in it everyday, eh?

And so F.C.W.A.U.A.T.D. came about. It is the only way I can think to accurately describe my mind. There’s also the added bonus that it can be abbreviated, and we all know that abbreviation makes everything more official. Maybe I could find others who are in the same boat and have F.C.W.A.U.A.T.D.A meetings. We could sit in a circle and discuss the nonexistence of magic and ghosts, before sharing with each other how long we’ve been cake-free.

I think I may have had an idea. All because I decided that a disgustingly cheap rhubarb crumble was the perfect analogy for life, the universe and everything. Can’t think how I got that from a 42p dessert.

A Haiku for a Friend…

 

Obnoxious laughter:

Always loud, forever warm.

Brighton loves it too.

I think my fear of queues comes from more than just being British.

So, I just got back from a week at the Edinburgh Festival which, for the record, was absolutely amazing. The place was buzzing and I saw some great shows – granted there were a few that made me want to rip out my vital organs, but pish posh.

Anyway, something happened while I was there that made me question much of what I’ve learned over my life. It left me confused and, honestly, slightly scared.

I was waiting at the venue for the Russell Kane show that would be starting in half an hour or so when suddenly, I felt my bladder was getting a little overwhelmed.

(That wasn’t what “confused and, honestly, slightly scared me”, don’t worry.)

I headed off in search of the toilets , only to find a few people waiting. “That’s fine”, I thought and stood there to wait also.

TIME FOR A SUB-STORY

What happened next put me in a sticky position…more people came in and joined the queue. The queue that it now seemed I was not a part of. I had been isolated from my fellow toilet-goers.

I had ignorantly assumed that it was a mental queue in operation and so stood, blissfully unaware, as a physical queue began to form. I found myself on the opposite side of the corridor to all of the other women: segregated.

So there I was, completely unaware of how to get myself back into my rightful place and it was getting closer and closer to my turn (or what would have been my turn had I been in the queue).

I muttered encouraging words to myself and in an odd and ungraceful motion did what can only be described as a pirouette-minus-the-ette into the line, mumbling an explanation and an apology to those behind me as I went.

Needless to say, it was an uncomfortable few moments as I waited for the cubicle to be free once again.

END OF SUB-STORY

Once I’d finished relieving my bladder, I headed back outside to find that people were getting ready to go into the show. I hurried up the line to inform those I was with of this so that we could join our fellow comedy-seekers.

Suddenly, I realised the line was moving, quite rapidly, forwards. I quickened my pace so we would not be left at the back, stuck seeing nothing but the particularly tall person in front’s dandruff.

This is when my world lost any form logicality it still possessed. I walked past a couple of members of staff, one of whom seemed quite distressed, and heard a little snippet of their conversation.

WHERE WERE THE PEOPLE AT THE FRONT GOING?!

If the queue was moving forward at such a rate (which it was, I assure you), where were all the people going? I honestly can’t get my head around this.

Was the reason this worked purely that everyone in the queue was really eager to  ‘get to know’ whoever was in front of them? Were those right at the front being made into pancakes right before the eyes of onlookers? Or was it something slightly more sinister?

I have my suspicions…

I really don’t want to have to eat Jeff.

Right, time for a bit of a rant and probably a great deal of cynicism, so to keep the mood nice and jolly, here’s a picture of a unicorn to start us off:

There, now that we’re all feeling magical, back to the point.

Life’s thrown something at me which I just can’t not moan about for any longer. It may seem silly, but what’s turned me into a premature grouch is this…

…and anything similar.

I just honestly can’t understand why anyone would say, “Oh look, I have a daughter who I kind of like. I know, let’s buy an annoying little sticker that tells everyone else on the road that we think our child is a princess.”

Just don’t do it. If the kid’s called Diana, then I can understand a bit more, but ‘little Jessica’ is not a princess ad never will be.

I don’t know whether these people think it’s cute or quirky, or whether they’re idiotic enough to think road-rage-fuelled drivers are less likely to ram into the back of them if they have one of these things.

Every time I see one, I want to grab the wheel and do just that.

To be honest, it’s just as bad as sticking one of these on your bumper:

Because seriously, if you can find me one fish-lacking person who, when sat in a traffic jam in rush hour, looks at the car in front to see that and doesn’t immediately think, “prick”, I’ll eat the unicorn.

Oh Look…Another Overused Pun.

Just My Luck I’d be bored one day, turn on the TV and there, brightening (ahem) up my screen is the one and only Lindsay Lohan. Hooray.

I find though, that Lilo is one of these people that I enjoy watching because she’s just so horrendously bad, that it’s incredibly easy to mock – and I like me some mocking. So imagine my joy to find that I’d stumbled across the film Just My Luck starring Lilo herself along with Chris Pine – aka. Captain James T Kirk (no complaints there, eh ladies?).

Seriously, it really was Just My Luck!

Yes, that was me pathetically pushing for that pun to go further. I’m thinking I may have worn it out now though. Just My Luck!

The film, is literally 103 minutes of advertising for McFly…with a few smooches thrown in for good measure.

(Has anyone noticed how I like to imdb runtimes of films and mention them during blog updates so as to sound knowledgeable?)

Just My Luck is about a girl (Lilo) who has incredibly good luck all the time. And then there’s the boy (Capt. K) who has – yep, you guessed it – incredibly bad luck…all the time. The two kiss, McFly members banter, switch luckiness, McFly members sing a song, live their lives, McFly members flick their hair, and finally fall in love, at which point McFly becomes big and famous and, fittingly, sings another song.

A riveting plot wouldn’t you say? Particularly because Lilo is throwing a tantrum throughout while Capt. K lopes around wearing a leather jacket and a duct tape enhanced backpack being a general Spiderman-before-Spiderman-Peter-Parker-male-lead (you know, the whole “I’m a nerd, hot, not a player and care about children and old people – yeah, you’re awake” vibe).

I do have a couple of questions about the film though;

1) When they were casting it, did they just jump in and hire every every single actor who has ever been on ER?

2) Did it not become obvious to them during the filming that Samaire Armstrong (short, blonde best friend of Lilo) was allergic to whatever was going in her coffee in the morning? I mean, seriously, the flailing should have tipped them off a bit.

Just My Luck is an amusing little romp though. Not a good film, but entertaining enough. Especially if you’re an up-and-coming Olympic hair flicker and fancy checking out the competition. I’d say Dougie’s the one to watch, he’s got all the Russian neck movements down.

It’s a shame, I really thought I had a chance at London 2012.

Ah, Just My Luck.