As opposed to taking the risk of starting my university projects this weekend I opted instead to relax and do very little of anything. In fact, I simply had a film festival in my chair. I've seen more films in the last 3 days than I have in the last 2 months.
First of all, why did I ever leave it so long before seeing District 9? When I heard that it got a nomination for Best Motion Picture of the Year I was surprised and I won't lie to you, I scoffed. A science fiction film, with aliens, shot in a documentary style? Did they put it in as some kind of cruel joke for the serious candidates? I'd heard a thousand times over how good it was but I wasn't expecting an Oscar nomination.
My biggest regret about having seen the film was simply that I never saw it at the cinema. An hour in and you realise you're no longer routing for Wikus, but for his alien companion. Rarely in cinema are you given the opportunity to humanise the invading aliens, or to consider them as beings. The exception that comes to mind for everyone when you think this is ET, but we all know (even if it's really deep down) that the film was shite and ET wouldn't be allowed to put his outstretched, glowing finger anywhere near a child in this day and age. I also loved the fact that for once the aliens opted not to land in America which saves me the "America Fuck-Yeah" film where they save the day by killing all the aliens single handedly, thus saving the entire world. But I digress.
I have also managed to see The Hurt Locker, 9, and Seven Pounds. Admittedly I am behind the times in seeing Seven Pounds but once again, an astounding film, well acted and I especially liked the sign: DO NOT TOUCH THE JELLYFISH.
9 was an interesting film, you can see Burtons scarred mind involved there somewhere with it being far darker than other animated films. One of the first shots you see is a dead man on the floor covered in paper and shortly after this a particularly poignant shot of a mother with her dead child clutched against her, both immobile and decaying. Dark stuff. But the animation is wonderful (of course not a pixar level), it's visually interesting and has more death in it than you're ever likely to find in any Disney film.
The Hurt Locker was good, for my money it's not an Oscar winner, but it definitely deserved the nomination. I've not seen it yet, but from what I know, I'd be pleased if Precious won. Ultimately Avatar will wipe the floors with almost every other film and I've got to say that if Up in the Air wins Best Film I'm hanging myself because I don't want to live in a world that rewards something as terrible as that.
The highlight of my weekend came at the cinema though, when after weeks of waiting, The Showcase finally got their grubby little hands on A Single Man. Having missed out on it on several days already I was more than a little excited to finally have the opportunity to go see it. A beautiful and melancholy film; it deals with the loss of a lover. Only Tom Ford, in his directorial debut, could make Colin Firth look so God-damn dapper. I'd be pleased if I could look like that. But you wouldn't think that Ford was new to the industry at all. His film, as I suppose you would expect from him, is visually magnificent. The subtle changes in lighting, illuminating the different aspects of George's life. His bursts of second life, elated me and Firth plays him so well from the word go that I found myself mistrustful of every person he came into contact with, simply for the suspicious notion that they might do something to hurt him. It was a cinematic masterpiece and more than a little affecting.
I also saw Couples Retreat this weekend. Suffice to say I'd rather pretend it never happened.
Sunday, 28 February 2010
Sunday, 21 February 2010
My shiny new tattoo
I got my second tattoo done today as well as getting my first one re-inked where I drunkenly slept on it just after it was done.
The highlight of my day was not the three hour wait, nor was it the oddly pleasant pain, but the conversations I had with my tattooist, the guy in the next room and the assistant. The assistant Wes came in and complimented me on my choice. I said "Thanks, I'm into my Haida". To a blank stare, Andy explained to him that it was the style of the symbol.
"Oh right, I thought you were talking about Maddy" he replied, laughing. Avoiding laughing when someone's drawing on your back with a needle is not any easier when Andy leans round me and goes "no mate, she's fucking dead". There was then a lengthy discussion as to how and why she was killed, what happened to the body and the guilty party.
If this wasn't enough to make my day, the conversation (somehow) moved to how good it was that Kurt Cobain killed himself: "he must have been a good shot to blow his brains out cause he didn't fucking have many. Besides, he's a fucking liar - he said he didn't have a gun". I replied that it was probably Courtney Love anyway and it was then pointed out that she'd have needed to understand what a gun was in order to pick one up.
All in all, it was bloody funny. Also just bloody, my left shoulder bled like a bitch.
But still, it's all nice and new and shiny now. =]
(Here it is...)
The highlight of my day was not the three hour wait, nor was it the oddly pleasant pain, but the conversations I had with my tattooist, the guy in the next room and the assistant. The assistant Wes came in and complimented me on my choice. I said "Thanks, I'm into my Haida". To a blank stare, Andy explained to him that it was the style of the symbol.
"Oh right, I thought you were talking about Maddy" he replied, laughing. Avoiding laughing when someone's drawing on your back with a needle is not any easier when Andy leans round me and goes "no mate, she's fucking dead". There was then a lengthy discussion as to how and why she was killed, what happened to the body and the guilty party.
If this wasn't enough to make my day, the conversation (somehow) moved to how good it was that Kurt Cobain killed himself: "he must have been a good shot to blow his brains out cause he didn't fucking have many. Besides, he's a fucking liar - he said he didn't have a gun". I replied that it was probably Courtney Love anyway and it was then pointed out that she'd have needed to understand what a gun was in order to pick one up.
All in all, it was bloody funny. Also just bloody, my left shoulder bled like a bitch.
But still, it's all nice and new and shiny now. =]
(Here it is...)
Saturday, 20 February 2010
Imogen Heap 19.02.10
After much anticipation, and some trepidation because of a sore throat, I finally witnessed Imogen Heap live in concert last night. I'd like to be able to wander off into some beautifully descriptive tangent at this point about her skill, her talent, the brilliance of the show, the genius of it all and her commitment to her fans. But honestly, nothing I can say, nothing I can write, could ever do her justice. I could write paragraphs about her and still not scratch the surface of that show and so I shall leave it at this:
Brilliant.
The only bad point in the entire evening was the horrendously drunk and obnoxious peroxide blonde wanker who thought he was better than her. Five songs into the set and he was shouting louder and louder, not singing, just shouting to his girlfriend, making jokes and taking phone calls. Eventually after many threats from people nearby he shut up and once he'd sobered up he left before any of us could get our hands on him. But once he'd settled down, despite being on edge the sounds washed over me and Imogen worked her magic. Calming, soothing, moving, funny and haunting beautiful. It couldn't have been better.
I was pleasantly surprised by the accompanying acts too. Generally a little disinterested in the opening acts after years of seeing bad ones (though not exclusively bad - I've been lucky enough to see Sean Walsh, Sonic Boom Six, Big D and Rhys Darby as warm-up acts). But Tim Exile was hilarious and within ten minutes of being on stage had turned a 'meow' sound into bubbles and dived into the crowd to perform some homemade magic with a mental recording joystick. But he was preceded by my new favourite artist - Back Ted-n-Ted. His set was fantastic. The songs were great and his music is genius not simply in its construction but in the very method in which it is created. I urge you to listen to him (http://www.myspace.com/backtednted) and know that even though these songs sound awesome, they're even better live.
His first album is out on April 27th and you can (and should) follow him on Twitter. Cause he really is just that cool.
Brilliant.
The only bad point in the entire evening was the horrendously drunk and obnoxious peroxide blonde wanker who thought he was better than her. Five songs into the set and he was shouting louder and louder, not singing, just shouting to his girlfriend, making jokes and taking phone calls. Eventually after many threats from people nearby he shut up and once he'd sobered up he left before any of us could get our hands on him. But once he'd settled down, despite being on edge the sounds washed over me and Imogen worked her magic. Calming, soothing, moving, funny and haunting beautiful. It couldn't have been better.
I was pleasantly surprised by the accompanying acts too. Generally a little disinterested in the opening acts after years of seeing bad ones (though not exclusively bad - I've been lucky enough to see Sean Walsh, Sonic Boom Six, Big D and Rhys Darby as warm-up acts). But Tim Exile was hilarious and within ten minutes of being on stage had turned a 'meow' sound into bubbles and dived into the crowd to perform some homemade magic with a mental recording joystick. But he was preceded by my new favourite artist - Back Ted-n-Ted. His set was fantastic. The songs were great and his music is genius not simply in its construction but in the very method in which it is created. I urge you to listen to him (http://www.myspace.com/backtednted) and know that even though these songs sound awesome, they're even better live.
His first album is out on April 27th and you can (and should) follow him on Twitter. Cause he really is just that cool.
Bored Now...
Time for a change.
It's occurred to me recently just how bored I am of being myself. I am always the same boring person. I drive, I only go places within my limits, I have no cash, I'm scared to take risks (yet I'll happily hurl myself from a bridge attached to a piece of elastic), I'm a nervous driver, don't like public transport and I'm socially awkward.
But God damn it I'm bored. I think I'm going to start making some changes, taking some chances and see where it goes. I'm going to start by trying to sell some of my stories, then I'm going to take some risks with uni. I've recently taken to showing affection a lot more openly and I'm going to progress this and I think perhaps, at someone else's suggestion, turn it into a project. I'm also going to follow up some of my other projects.
I need to learn to be a little bit different. If I start to relapse into my usual, abusive, miserable self, someone give me a kick up the arse please. Not an actual kick up the arse, but tell me off.
It's time to enjoy life.
Also perhaps to sign up to anger management.
It's occurred to me recently just how bored I am of being myself. I am always the same boring person. I drive, I only go places within my limits, I have no cash, I'm scared to take risks (yet I'll happily hurl myself from a bridge attached to a piece of elastic), I'm a nervous driver, don't like public transport and I'm socially awkward.
But God damn it I'm bored. I think I'm going to start making some changes, taking some chances and see where it goes. I'm going to start by trying to sell some of my stories, then I'm going to take some risks with uni. I've recently taken to showing affection a lot more openly and I'm going to progress this and I think perhaps, at someone else's suggestion, turn it into a project. I'm also going to follow up some of my other projects.
I need to learn to be a little bit different. If I start to relapse into my usual, abusive, miserable self, someone give me a kick up the arse please. Not an actual kick up the arse, but tell me off.
It's time to enjoy life.
Also perhaps to sign up to anger management.
Tuesday, 16 February 2010
Sunday, 14 February 2010
Happy Valentines Day
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I've got a gun,
So get in the car
I had forgotten the familiar sense of burning hatred that I am filled with on this day every year. Luckily however I am trapped inside the house with coursework to do and a Placebo CD playing in the background. I am needlessly cruel to happy couples at the best of times, worse still on Valentines Day.
I remember a couple of years back when a friend and I both went through a break up at around the same time. We each worked in a different Blockbuster and we called each store on the internet phone and verbally abused our happy-couple-customers. That was entertaining.
Fuck Valentines Day.
Violets are blue,
I've got a gun,
So get in the car
I had forgotten the familiar sense of burning hatred that I am filled with on this day every year. Luckily however I am trapped inside the house with coursework to do and a Placebo CD playing in the background. I am needlessly cruel to happy couples at the best of times, worse still on Valentines Day.
I remember a couple of years back when a friend and I both went through a break up at around the same time. We each worked in a different Blockbuster and we called each store on the internet phone and verbally abused our happy-couple-customers. That was entertaining.
Fuck Valentines Day.
Wednesday, 10 February 2010
Reminiscent
From the clutches of my latest downward spiral, unable to resign myself to my usual 'out of range' period, my mind has opted to cast itself backwards at inopportune moments. It started when I dusted off my old music that I'd not heard since I was 15. Then suddenly I've got Papa Roach, Korn and some old Placebo on my iPod and I'm trying to decide why I ever liked it, and why I still do. I've not heard the sounds of Follow the Leader for about 9 years. The layer of dust attached to it was testament to this. Yet despite the time lapse I find I still know all the lyrics. I'm able to shamefacedly run through the lyrics while Jonathan Davis accuses Fred Durst of "getting butt-fucked by your uncle Chuck". Apparently not content with this, my mind has resorted to sending me obscure memories too, seemingly at anyones whim but my own.
I'll be in class trying to concentrate and all of a sudden my mind will be bombarded by mental depictions of my friends attacking the ground of a car park screaming "fuck you mother earth", or the 'dead' pig on a field trip back in secondary school. But my favourite came along today in the terms of music (forgetting the fact that I became acutely aware of Freak Power - Turn On, Tune In, Cop Out yesterday - a 90s masterpiece). I sat in class this morning trying my best to pretend that the world around me was not happening and a few minutes into the lesson I got an image thrown into my head from primary school. Every day when my mum would drive me to school I would listen to Black Sabbath. At the time I think I was the only kid listening to that sort of thing. We'd rock into the church car park (yeah, I went to a COE school), and I'd be singing along to Sabbath Bloody Sabbath - because there were lyrics in it about seeing people burn, and at one stage you get to sing "you bastards" without getting in trouble for swearing.
It was great.
Why isn't life that simple these days?
Oh well. At least I'm not getting sent out of the church anymore.
I'll be in class trying to concentrate and all of a sudden my mind will be bombarded by mental depictions of my friends attacking the ground of a car park screaming "fuck you mother earth", or the 'dead' pig on a field trip back in secondary school. But my favourite came along today in the terms of music (forgetting the fact that I became acutely aware of Freak Power - Turn On, Tune In, Cop Out yesterday - a 90s masterpiece). I sat in class this morning trying my best to pretend that the world around me was not happening and a few minutes into the lesson I got an image thrown into my head from primary school. Every day when my mum would drive me to school I would listen to Black Sabbath. At the time I think I was the only kid listening to that sort of thing. We'd rock into the church car park (yeah, I went to a COE school), and I'd be singing along to Sabbath Bloody Sabbath - because there were lyrics in it about seeing people burn, and at one stage you get to sing "you bastards" without getting in trouble for swearing.
It was great.
Why isn't life that simple these days?
Oh well. At least I'm not getting sent out of the church anymore.
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