It was not directed at my lovely lovely Tim Walker book behind it which I will post the sheet out of after the next week and two daze of exams. :-S
♥♥♥
Friday, May 21, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
SUM CHOOON BAH
You find that all her words of kindness linger on when she no longer needs you..
And in her eyes you see nothing; No sign of love behind her tears, Cried for no one.
A love that should have lasted years.
You want her, you need her, And yet you don't believe her when she says her love is dead.
You think she needs you.
And in her eyes you see nothing; No sign of love behind the tears, Cried for no one.
A love that should have lasted years.
You stay home, she goes out, She says that long ago
she knew someone but now he's gone. She doesn't need him.
Your day breaks, your mind aches,
There will be times when all the things she said will fill your head, you won't forget her.
And in her eyes you see nothing; No sign of love behind her tears, Cried for no one.
A love that should have lasted years.
A love that should have lasted years.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Paris, Je T'Aime
In the much renowned poem “The Lake Isle Of Innisfree”, Yeats depicts the rocky island as his personal pastoral utopia, his ideal world, if you will, to which he wishes to escape to. In this way, the poem has a universal appeal in that everyone at some point shares this desire to escape to a better world, a happier place in which they imagine they’ll feel more at home with it’s sights and sounds
But enough about "Willy Yeats". Paris, as the unquestionable centre-point for culture and what not dans le monde is my own Innisfree, though I feel it’s safe to say I succeed in perhaps being more realistic than Yeats, in that I don't make such bold statements as “I will go now”. No, as much as it pains me to come to terms with the fact that “great things really do come to those who wait”, I’ll wait impatiently for the time to come, bags packed and all, to take utmost advantage of my EU citizenship and be gone without a trace.
You see, Paris possesses particular significance to me in that it is my escape plan, my resolution to all the problems that I face during my angsty teen years and the likes. I take satisfaction in the knowledge that I can start afresh in my move to the European hub of activity.
Growing up, my mother used to eagerly and excitedly recount the years of her life spent living in the city of romance. She’d pull out the scrapbook she kept in her pre-parental days at random, and the hours would pass by as she’d recount her tales from an era in her life long gone, and we’d sit ‘round, grinning and bearing it, knowing, even at such an early age, how much these glory days of her life meant to her. She may have left France over two decades ago now, only to return occasionally as a simple tourist, the ultimate “demotion”, but she never quite moved on. Even to this day, it’s as though a part of her never left Paris
A prime example of this is the fact that, be it here at home, during a holiday in France, or even in a busy Nottingham city square, my mother is notorious for exclaiming “Ah, Merde!” whenever the opportunity to do so arises, much to the amusement of passers by who possess even a basic understanding of the language, and much to our embarrassment
Her influence, her not quite so subtle alternatives to saying the years she spent in Paris as an illegal immigrant were “super bien” and she’d highly recommend such an adventure of sorts to anyone, didn’t stop there either. Oh no, if it came to it, she’d have no shame whatsoever in resorting to gross exaggeration and would even, on occasion, indulge in the glib and oily art of duplicity to get her point across. If ever she thought she could get away with, she’d lead on that she’d spent a significant portion of her life living there, when in actuality, she’d left after two years “and a half”, opting to move on to bigger and better things, in finding employment in a ski lodge in the French Alps.
But enough about "Willy Yeats". Paris, as the unquestionable centre-point for culture and what not dans le monde is my own Innisfree, though I feel it’s safe to say I succeed in perhaps being more realistic than Yeats, in that I don't make such bold statements as “I will go now”. No, as much as it pains me to come to terms with the fact that “great things really do come to those who wait”, I’ll wait impatiently for the time to come, bags packed and all, to take utmost advantage of my EU citizenship and be gone without a trace.
You see, Paris possesses particular significance to me in that it is my escape plan, my resolution to all the problems that I face during my angsty teen years and the likes. I take satisfaction in the knowledge that I can start afresh in my move to the European hub of activity.
Growing up, my mother used to eagerly and excitedly recount the years of her life spent living in the city of romance. She’d pull out the scrapbook she kept in her pre-parental days at random, and the hours would pass by as she’d recount her tales from an era in her life long gone, and we’d sit ‘round, grinning and bearing it, knowing, even at such an early age, how much these glory days of her life meant to her. She may have left France over two decades ago now, only to return occasionally as a simple tourist, the ultimate “demotion”, but she never quite moved on. Even to this day, it’s as though a part of her never left Paris
A prime example of this is the fact that, be it here at home, during a holiday in France, or even in a busy Nottingham city square, my mother is notorious for exclaiming “Ah, Merde!” whenever the opportunity to do so arises, much to the amusement of passers by who possess even a basic understanding of the language, and much to our embarrassment
Her influence, her not quite so subtle alternatives to saying the years she spent in Paris as an illegal immigrant were “super bien” and she’d highly recommend such an adventure of sorts to anyone, didn’t stop there either. Oh no, if it came to it, she’d have no shame whatsoever in resorting to gross exaggeration and would even, on occasion, indulge in the glib and oily art of duplicity to get her point across. If ever she thought she could get away with, she’d lead on that she’d spent a significant portion of her life living there, when in actuality, she’d left after two years “and a half”, opting to move on to bigger and better things, in finding employment in a ski lodge in the French Alps.
She still, to this day, mentions in passing, whenever she can, that she starred in a renowned French movie “Marche A L’Ombre alongside a yet more renowned French actor, one “Michel Blanc”, avoiding, of course, mentioning that she appeared in said film as a mere extra, if at all she felt she could get away with doing so. She’d sigh softly whilst recalling with a nostalgic tone how she’d rejected a proposal from a Portuguese man, and take a moment to pensively ponder how her life might be, had she accepted. She’d then proceed to giggle hysterically to herself, without saying why, the woman of secrets she is
Looking back, “Joe Le Taxi” was the first pop song whose lyrics I could recall almost without error and with ease, an interesting enough thought considering not a word of English features in the tune. This I have my mom to thank for, along with my love for the French language, all things French, and ultimately, my love for the French city that sparked her own passion for all of the above, which she passed on to me almost as though it were a genetic matter, a dominant gene in my biological make-up she was responsible for.
Though very much aware that I was very possibly receiving a grossly exaggerated version of the truth, I found myself sub-consciously developing some rather flamboyant connotations with the French capital. With time, I began to perceive it as place where happiness was a given, where one’s wildest dreams could and would come true, and most importantly, where one is almost guaranteed to spend the best years of their life.
The life I have here in Cork, as much as it would be envied be a myriad of peoples of all sorts, including, no doubt, a number of Parisians, I quickly became bored with, as a result of these thoughts and ideas that had filled my head without so much as my contents. I’d been convinced I wanted bigger and better things in life than anything a city as small as Cork has to offer. As much as I’ve come to love the city I grew up in, I find myself restless and itching to leave the “banks of my own lovely Lee” only to start a new life from scratch in some foreign city, on the banks of the Seine. Thanks, Mom.
A miniature Eiffel Tower figurine, bought in a Euro Disney trinket kiosk, stands assertively on my tv, watching over my bedroom. It serves as a juvenile attempt to bring a little bit of Paris into my own home. It is far from the 1000+ feet height of the actual tower, and does not boast a revolving beam of light on its top, but for now anyways, it will have to do. I hope that one day, I will look out my bedroom window only to be met with the sight of Gustave Eiffel’s actual creation, even if only on a temporary basis
On both precious occasions in which I laid eyes upon the structure, I found myself powerless to the euphoria and heightened glee that swept over me, whilst grinning stupidly at it, the amateur tourist I am. The first time it were as if I was being introduced to a stranger I’d heard so many good things about, from a host of reliable sources, the second, it were as though I was being greeted by an old friend. On the latter occasion, it was a much easier task making sense of these overwhelming emotions I was experiencing. The tower, as a symbol and icon of the city of Paris, also served as a symbol for what the city had come to mean to me. The guaranteed happiness, chance encounters, life-changing experiences development of sense of identity and of purpose I almost expected to one day find In the city all summed up in 7,000+ tonnes of metal, and I, as a boy of 16, could hardly take it all in.
Looking back, “Joe Le Taxi” was the first pop song whose lyrics I could recall almost without error and with ease, an interesting enough thought considering not a word of English features in the tune. This I have my mom to thank for, along with my love for the French language, all things French, and ultimately, my love for the French city that sparked her own passion for all of the above, which she passed on to me almost as though it were a genetic matter, a dominant gene in my biological make-up she was responsible for.
Though very much aware that I was very possibly receiving a grossly exaggerated version of the truth, I found myself sub-consciously developing some rather flamboyant connotations with the French capital. With time, I began to perceive it as place where happiness was a given, where one’s wildest dreams could and would come true, and most importantly, where one is almost guaranteed to spend the best years of their life.
The life I have here in Cork, as much as it would be envied be a myriad of peoples of all sorts, including, no doubt, a number of Parisians, I quickly became bored with, as a result of these thoughts and ideas that had filled my head without so much as my contents. I’d been convinced I wanted bigger and better things in life than anything a city as small as Cork has to offer. As much as I’ve come to love the city I grew up in, I find myself restless and itching to leave the “banks of my own lovely Lee” only to start a new life from scratch in some foreign city, on the banks of the Seine. Thanks, Mom.
A miniature Eiffel Tower figurine, bought in a Euro Disney trinket kiosk, stands assertively on my tv, watching over my bedroom. It serves as a juvenile attempt to bring a little bit of Paris into my own home. It is far from the 1000+ feet height of the actual tower, and does not boast a revolving beam of light on its top, but for now anyways, it will have to do. I hope that one day, I will look out my bedroom window only to be met with the sight of Gustave Eiffel’s actual creation, even if only on a temporary basis
On both precious occasions in which I laid eyes upon the structure, I found myself powerless to the euphoria and heightened glee that swept over me, whilst grinning stupidly at it, the amateur tourist I am. The first time it were as if I was being introduced to a stranger I’d heard so many good things about, from a host of reliable sources, the second, it were as though I was being greeted by an old friend. On the latter occasion, it was a much easier task making sense of these overwhelming emotions I was experiencing. The tower, as a symbol and icon of the city of Paris, also served as a symbol for what the city had come to mean to me. The guaranteed happiness, chance encounters, life-changing experiences development of sense of identity and of purpose I almost expected to one day find In the city all summed up in 7,000+ tonnes of metal, and I, as a boy of 16, could hardly take it all in.
-C'estMícheálB*tch
Friday, May 14, 2010
What I Learned On Our Art Trip.
The meaning behind modern art: I knew an epiphany was on it's way since I went to MoMA in New York and yesterday in the National Gallery, I fiiiinally found THE definition. A short film on Jackson Pollack there described his pictures as "expression rather than illustration". And BOOM, realisation burst forth within me as strongly the allegations against Terry Richardson. I really got it. Jackson Pollack's paintings, and I'm just using one specific example here, aren't stories and they aren't decorative objects per se because: its not even about the paintings. Its like they're not exactly meant to be looked at because they themselves are only byproducts. The REAL art is the person behind those paintings in a moment in which they felt something. Its the feeling that IS the art, not the jumble of enamel and slabs of paint thats been flung onto the canvas. To me it's like when on hearing the name of a person you know, you don't think about every individual letter or picture how they look: you hear an overall sound, an expression. You hear how you feel about that person or who they are or what they've been through, not how the name is written or what font it's in. It reminds me of that quote from Factory Girl, when she says: "You're being a little stupid. I mean, don't you think it's intriguing? You know, it may just be a painting, but it's an idea. And the man behind that idea is what's interesting". That "man", that human, was always there, but it's what happened to have been ejected from experiences or emotions or ideas in the form of something solid** is what brought attention TO his mind and abilities. And that's when it really becomes amazing. Just as that line from a film I've seen forty times has always been there but I just hadn't realised what it exactly meant before now.
Your art grows with you, the reason you explore different materials and styles because you yourself are growing as a person. The art I was doing when I was 15 is totally different from now, but I don't believe its because I've practised really. Because its that every time I turn a corner with shading or painting or making something look 3-D, it comes out of nowhere. Its totally uncontrollable because it's mental, not physical. It's my mind that has grown and opened like a slapped clam, not my hands, which have OFC remained freakishly small and hobbit-like. Just like I wouldn't have been able to write this blog two years ago, not because I'd be too young or that I'd have nothing to say or that I'd be too self-concious but because now my PERCEPTION itself has changed.
Anyway, I felt like I had to write that little epiphany out to express the B0Omp0W that happened in my clam-brain yesterday, before I dive into my Hamlet Question asap!
** NOT THAT. :L
♥♥♥
Monday, May 10, 2010
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
If this doesn't convince michelle..
In light of the news that came out last week about the angels not being statues but being REAL PEOPLE, I feel I need to go on a rant about the last double bill of Doctor Who. BTW, in case you’re living under a nerd-proof rock, you can “Stuff-it-up-your-arse-for-nothing-and-fuck-off-while-you’re-doing-it” OR click here to see a summary of what/who the infamous Weeping Angels are..These two episodes are on such an unimaginably larger scale than season 3’s Blink. Angels in a house? Sending people back to the 1800s? The lights turn off once? PAHHH how about thousands of them hiding in towers of catacombs, climbing into human EYES, ripping out spinal cords and using dead bodies to speak..and HEY there’s always time for those guys to tumble into an abyss of fucking time energy. The thing about these Doctor Who monsters is that they are genuinely terrifying, actual psychopaths, not just entertaining. They live forever, are unbeatable and look so..subtly ominous - all in all they are testiments to that New-Age-Paranormal-Activity kind of fear. The climax with Amy wandering through a Where The Wild Things Are forest with her eyes closed, sub-conciously counting down her death while the giant light of death consumes everyone around her. I could rant about how gosh darn incredible everything in this season is, how the writing is so perfect, the look is so much more BEAUTIFUL and the acting is spot-on (NOT THAT) and how much this new quintessential modernité adds to every episode..but I've done that a lottt. But there was one thing that has never happened before.
Which brings me smoooothly onto my next point..THE DOCTOR WAS RAPED!! AAAAAAAAOOOOGHHHSAAAAA *whale noise* Holy sheet I was not expecting the line: “You're sweet but I’m not looking for anything so..LONG-TERM”..*lunges* in a show (supposedly) aimed at 12 year olds.
Ohh Amy, light of my life, fire of my loins..you have voiced the wishes of every pulse watching. That’s right, PULSE. And yes, it was mildly awkward watching it with my parents. YES, I am a pervert. But, and now I address certain coffee-looking naysayers directly, what's important is is that clearly I'm Not The Only One. Is that a song lyric? PROBABLY NOT.
♥♥♥
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Monday, May 3, 2010
Where is fancy bred? In the heart or in the head?
In light of le nou blogguer, and of the ridiculous hysterical grin that is still plastered onto my face after reading her virgin post, I’m going to talk about something I experienced yesterday, drowned in sushi and HB Swirls, waylaid by perverts and overcome with waxing creative energy. Well kiddos, do you ever have that moment where you fall a little bit in love with someone you shouldn’t? And I’m not talking about that Edward/Jacob slash..none of that body-and-soul sheeet. I was in a weird mood yesterday, sorta buried with a metaphorical avalanche of petty, petty, petty x 400 frustrations which were making me 400 times even more frustrated because I KNEW how petty they were/are. PETTTYYYYY! Anyfuck, I’m talking about those days you, perhaps consciously, seek solace in a brilliant character or let the creative jizz that’s leaching from your pores proliferate itself in the look one person’s eyes or voice.
Queue that pedestal.
Well today, that person was Gene Wilder. After a mini-DVD fest of my freshly-purchased The Producers and the old golden disc’s Willy Wonka..I fell a little bit in love with him. That bit where he looks at the camera and says “It’s just that...no-one ever called me Leo before”. His deep blue eyes and that lovely voice that sounds like tears mixed with congealed maple syrup along with an undercurrent of emotional instability and those random AMAZING poetic quote-a-thons in Chocolate Factory that I’ve honestly never even registered before: “Is it my soul that calls my name?” or, my favourite, the beaautiful title of this post. Which brings me so-not-smoothly onto a question that has been on my fizzing mind for some time: WHY are vulnerable characters so attractive and endearing? And I don’t mean attractive in a “Dayumm whooza sexayy fiiish” way, I mean when something someone says something that genuinely sunflower’s your heartstrings**. Maybe they touch some kind of vulnerability in all of us or maybe summon up a dormant maternal instinct (VERY dormant for me! NOTHANKS) or do they just innately hold, as 't were, the mirror up to nature and show us the vast fragility of every person surrounding us? Somebody explain because I don’t understand this phenomenon - especially in the celebrity world. James Dean, Edie Sedgwick, Marilyn Monroe, Princess Di, Kurt Cobain or the bit in Half Blood Prince where Malfoy sobs in the bathroom..all these people are fundamentally beautiful because of their depressions or issues or tragedies.
I could soliloquy the day away about this but I’ll probably just go re-watch The Producers instead. Well maybe it’s my phantaaaasmagorically strange mood, or the fact that I’ve ‘known’ this actor since I saw Willy Wonka when I was like an embryo and am now noticing all these new wonderful hidden Jokes-For-Adults (MOI? ADULT? gwoyyy..) in his acting today, but anyway, the conclusion is..GENE WILDER IS MY NEW EMPATHIZING BEST FRIEND.
♥♥♥
** Only the sicker (M) members of the audience will get that without the help of urbandictionary..
Queue that pedestal.
Well today, that person was Gene Wilder. After a mini-DVD fest of my freshly-purchased The Producers and the old golden disc’s Willy Wonka..I fell a little bit in love with him. That bit where he looks at the camera and says “It’s just that...no-one ever called me Leo before”. His deep blue eyes and that lovely voice that sounds like tears mixed with congealed maple syrup along with an undercurrent of emotional instability and those random AMAZING poetic quote-a-thons in Chocolate Factory that I’ve honestly never even registered before: “Is it my soul that calls my name?” or, my favourite, the beaautiful title of this post. Which brings me so-not-smoothly onto a question that has been on my fizzing mind for some time: WHY are vulnerable characters so attractive and endearing? And I don’t mean attractive in a “Dayumm whooza sexayy fiiish” way, I mean when something someone says something that genuinely sunflower’s your heartstrings**. Maybe they touch some kind of vulnerability in all of us or maybe summon up a dormant maternal instinct (VERY dormant for me! NOTHANKS) or do they just innately hold, as 't were, the mirror up to nature and show us the vast fragility of every person surrounding us? Somebody explain because I don’t understand this phenomenon - especially in the celebrity world. James Dean, Edie Sedgwick, Marilyn Monroe, Princess Di, Kurt Cobain or the bit in Half Blood Prince where Malfoy sobs in the bathroom..all these people are fundamentally beautiful because of their depressions or issues or tragedies.
I could soliloquy the day away about this but I’ll probably just go re-watch The Producers instead. Well maybe it’s my phantaaaasmagorically strange mood, or the fact that I’ve ‘known’ this actor since I saw Willy Wonka when I was like an embryo and am now noticing all these new wonderful hidden Jokes-For-Adults (MOI? ADULT? gwoyyy..) in his acting today, but anyway, the conclusion is..GENE WILDER IS MY NEW EMPATHIZING BEST FRIEND.
♥♥♥
** Only the sicker (M) members of the audience will get that without the help of urbandictionary..
Sunday, May 2, 2010
ENDORPHINS ALL ROUND!
Waking up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night feeling that someone’s breathing over your shoulder. Only under Gaisce circumstances would I find this funny. Let me explain. Even though Christina Aguilera’s revival of 60s music and style was only an excuse to wear red lipstick and dance with sailors, she had the right idea: Back to Basics. No matter how many times I discover the great simplicities of nature; walking along a mountain, swimming on a beach, making a daisy chain, breathing the fresh 
air, observing the animals, I continue to forget what I’m missing out on here in the heart of the city. This is where Gaisce comes in. ON THA BASIC, the President likes to award people who get their bodies involved in sport, minds involved a hobby, and hearts involved in the community, in return for a medal, a certificate and much, much more.
air, observing the animals, I continue to forget what I’m missing out on here in the heart of the city. This is where Gaisce comes in. ON THA BASIC, the President likes to award people who get their bodies involved in sport, minds involved a hobby, and hearts involved in the community, in return for a medal, a certificate and much, much more.The next best thing was the company. Sharing this trip with friends who had a mutual want to escape the drama, arguments,
awkwardness, competitiveness and immaturity of everyday socialising, and instead, just let go and have fun! (as brochure-worthy as that sounds). After all, is it that weird wanting to escape the messy alcohol-obsessed weekends that never fail to disappoint? Not only this, but in the midst of our disturbingly hilarious sense of humour clash, i managed to even escape myself for a while, enter: Jason. Yes, Gaisce made me discover the player 'shamy feen' within me, irresistible to women, envied by men, you know how it is. Of course, excessive pervy jokes don't go without their downsides. Hence, this Jason character appearing in my dreams only to wake me up at 5am feeling violated and nervous. Needless to say i didn't find this funny 'till the next morning.So a weekend and miles of laughter later, we return to the run o' the mill, exchanging these 'I get you' looks in the corridors, or an Avatarian, 'I see you'. Thumbs up for hills and good clean fun, THATS WHAT I SAY!
new girl <3
Friday, April 30, 2010
I was once, like john-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause; but today I said to myself : "Okay, look; from this time forth, my thoughts will be inspired or be nothing worth" But what to write? Am I really a relevant candidate for the (so-called "egotistical")blogging universe?? And so, today my tone is pensive, like that of the buddha monk...
However, a stew of inspiration is beginning to brew within the buddha's cauldron.And so, it compels me to say the cliché:
To be continued...
Friday, April 23, 2010
Martha thinks I am a heroin addict...
That's probably due to my fledgling obsession with The Young Veins. Remember Ryan Ross? Yeah, him...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SLg_sG0k1dkube.com/watch?v=SLg_sG0k1dk
I have to get like 12 (i.e. 3) shots for unpronouncable illnesses. Culture may actually be the death of me (i.e. it'll be a pain in the ass...literally? :S).
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SLg_sG0k1dkube.com/watch?v=SLg_sG0k1dk
I have to get like 12 (i.e. 3) shots for unpronouncable illnesses. Culture may actually be the death of me (i.e. it'll be a pain in the ass...literally? :S).
This might entertain you. Or not. I don't give a bag of potato CHIPS.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2001/oct/27/weekend.guybrowning
£££
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
MY WORDS FLY UP, MY THOUGHTS REMAIN BELOW
*click to enlarge* I was bored from the riDONKulous amount of Hamlet homework and also there IS the fact that..Four months ago right now, Paul McCartney came on stage. :(
POST COMING SOOOON.
Martha ♥♥♥
Martha ♥♥♥
Sunday, April 18, 2010
"BOI don't try to front I I know just just what you are are are..
...whats that other wan? Not a womanizer..no...
OHYEAH a paedophile!".
I dunno why that quote was an appropriate title for this post. But it is so get over it. GAWD that is SO like you. For fucks sake. WHAT ARE WE DOING?! Anywayyy, maybe thats just paedophilic wishful thinking for the subject of this post. So I'm not gonna bother doing a Doctor Who splurge this week but next weekend (along with chaotic gaisce & art tripping) is the return of River Song and THOSE angels so..lesquee! Today I found this website called weheartit.com (n0oB) and I looked up Matt Smith and..AND..well..
OHYEAH a paedophile!".
I dunno why that quote was an appropriate title for this post. But it is so get over it. GAWD that is SO like you. For fucks sake. WHAT ARE WE DOING?! Anywayyy, maybe thats just paedophilic wishful thinking for the subject of this post. So I'm not gonna bother doing a Doctor Who splurge this week but next weekend (along with chaotic gaisce & art tripping) is the return of River Song and THOSE angels so..lesquee! Today I found this website called weheartit.com (n0oB) and I looked up Matt Smith and..AND..well..
Love me? Or Amy, I'm cool with both. Along with your turnip face. :]
♥♥♥
Saturday, April 17, 2010
"The C in Cork stands for Cool!"
or CULTURE perhaps? Eh?EH?
I'm not gonna try to sum up the madnessss of Jedward so here are the videos we made AFTER the concert to show their bizarre bizarre effect on mankind. (Including the amazing foam glove i got. Squee!)
And yes, they ARE Harry Potter themed..
I'm not gonna try to sum up the madnessss of Jedward so here are the videos we made AFTER the concert to show their bizarre bizarre effect on mankind. (Including the amazing foam glove i got. Squee!)
And yes, they ARE Harry Potter themed..
It Begins..
SLOW-MO
Platform 9 And 3 Quarters
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Monday, April 12, 2010
A Spoonful Of Honesty
No one knows this, but the one thing I dread the most in the morning, more than anything else, is that last galnce in the mirror, before you really do have to leave. You know the one. I for one find it hard, accepting, on a daily routine, that no more can be do be done, you've washed dried and combed yo' hair, you've shaved, moisturised if needs be, and of course, scrubbed 'em teeth...and this is it. This is how you're going to look for the rest of the day. On your way out the door, you try to accept that, should anything of significance happen today, this is how you'll be remembered looking. Don't expect anyone to look back and think to themselves "Why, wasnt his personality looking well that day!". It just doesnt work that way. If only it did.
No one know this, but when anticipating a night out, which may or not include a drink(ing binge) and whatnot, with friends, the one thing I dread more than anything else is how, as is to be expected, bad I'll no doubt look, the mouldy bitch I am in the myriad of "piccies" my oblivious friendy-friends insist on taking. That'd all be good and well if it werent for the medium of correspondance to which we so fondly offer up hours of our valuable time, weekly, Facebook. I brace myself when the dreaded notifications boldly make themselves present in my life "I'm Hawt And I Know It 2kaiX tagged you in a photo". Oh joy. I sigh in relief if I at least achieve "presentable" status in said "piccies". If not, I can spend anything up to a few minutes just gazing at 'em, sizing 'em up, coming to terms with them. It's not unusual for me to keep coming back to them throughout the day, and the days to come, repeatedly asking myself "are they really THAT bad?" Powerless to do anything but merely "untag" myself, i've oft found myself fighting the urge to report these unsavoury pics, to leave my beloved friends in the mercy of the god-only-knows how understanding Facebook staff, in a bid to rid the internet of pictorial evidence of a flash photo gone horrendously wrong. Whether or not this is normal human behaviour is anyone's guess. Hmm...
Sad truth is, there are days when I die a little inside when I pass a mirror within too close a proximity, bespectacled. My own reflection, staring back at me, sometime's it's all just a little to much to grin and bear. Those days, I almost feel I could tackly writing a book on the meaning behind the Palahniuk quote "The difference between how you look and how you see yourself is enough to kill most people." Others days, though, i'll join it in dance. My reflection, that is (You probz think I joke when I say this, but see i thought i'd inject some humourous truth into this blogpost before, you know, things got a little TOO serious) Anywaaays, feel free to call it "Self Image Bipolar" or whatever, but i'd be inclined to say it's an awkward phase that accompanies the rollercoaster of untamable, fickle emotions otherwise known as teenage years (or so I hope anyways) and i think it's safe to say i'm not alone in my "dilema" as such, when I stop to consider what my fellow peers must too go through as part of their daily lives
Another sad truth is, I find myself somehow "expected" to abide by a stereotype in which "looks are evvverything" and little to no emphasis is placed on appreciation of intellect and creative abililty and the likes. "If you've got it, flaunt it!"??? Well, I dont, as far i'm concerned, so THERE WILL BE NO FLAUNTING. 'nough said :) Sadder yet tho, if i'm going to be honest, is that i'm undeniably guilty of taking my lack of self-assuredness out on the more "beautiful people" that flood my peripheral vision, at any given opportunity. That is to say, and i'm ashamed to admit it, i'll make their lives that little bit harder if I can, justifying it by thinking of it as a kind of karma, if you will. After all, there are those whose mere entrance into a room will act as a blow to the self esteem of everyone else in it, whether knowingly or not. I almost feel obliged to make these people's lives a little less incredibly easy...after all, is it not about time they act had to work for something, without having to rely on their looks, the old reliable, to accomplish the task at hand with ease, if even that "something" is my "like" and respect? Forgive my bitterness, but i highly doubt i'm alone in my justifications. So yeah, if ever you feel i'm being particularly "snide bitchy and insincere" to you on any given day, take it as a compliment...chances are, you're looking particularly well. Perphaps i'm just green with envy...nahh, wouldnt go that far just yet =P
Anyways, i'd best leave it at that before i turn this "rape into a murder"...or if you'd rather not indulge in the glib and oily art of metaphor usage, this personal response to the topic at hand into a rantrantrant >< I realise i've strayed far from the "Perception of Beauty" blog originally proposed by Mar-fuck-a herself (Y), but I hope i've effectively tackled an issue close to many of our hearts which isnt voiced frequently enough, I do believe...an elephant in the room, if you will, no one dares talk about, enough, anyways. And well, if you found it difficult to relate to anything discussed above, consider yourself lucky...and as for me, don't feel the need to sympathise, I dont want your compassion 'coz well, I Do It To Myself, I Do, And That's What Really Hurts <3
-Anon.
No one know this, but when anticipating a night out, which may or not include a drink(ing binge) and whatnot, with friends, the one thing I dread more than anything else is how, as is to be expected, bad I'll no doubt look, the mouldy bitch I am in the myriad of "piccies" my oblivious friendy-friends insist on taking. That'd all be good and well if it werent for the medium of correspondance to which we so fondly offer up hours of our valuable time, weekly, Facebook. I brace myself when the dreaded notifications boldly make themselves present in my life "I'm Hawt And I Know It 2kaiX tagged you in a photo". Oh joy. I sigh in relief if I at least achieve "presentable" status in said "piccies". If not, I can spend anything up to a few minutes just gazing at 'em, sizing 'em up, coming to terms with them. It's not unusual for me to keep coming back to them throughout the day, and the days to come, repeatedly asking myself "are they really THAT bad?" Powerless to do anything but merely "untag" myself, i've oft found myself fighting the urge to report these unsavoury pics, to leave my beloved friends in the mercy of the god-only-knows how understanding Facebook staff, in a bid to rid the internet of pictorial evidence of a flash photo gone horrendously wrong. Whether or not this is normal human behaviour is anyone's guess. Hmm...
Sad truth is, there are days when I die a little inside when I pass a mirror within too close a proximity, bespectacled. My own reflection, staring back at me, sometime's it's all just a little to much to grin and bear. Those days, I almost feel I could tackly writing a book on the meaning behind the Palahniuk quote "The difference between how you look and how you see yourself is enough to kill most people." Others days, though, i'll join it in dance. My reflection, that is (You probz think I joke when I say this, but see i thought i'd inject some humourous truth into this blogpost before, you know, things got a little TOO serious) Anywaaays, feel free to call it "Self Image Bipolar" or whatever, but i'd be inclined to say it's an awkward phase that accompanies the rollercoaster of untamable, fickle emotions otherwise known as teenage years (or so I hope anyways) and i think it's safe to say i'm not alone in my "dilema" as such, when I stop to consider what my fellow peers must too go through as part of their daily lives
Another sad truth is, I find myself somehow "expected" to abide by a stereotype in which "looks are evvverything" and little to no emphasis is placed on appreciation of intellect and creative abililty and the likes. "If you've got it, flaunt it!"??? Well, I dont, as far i'm concerned, so THERE WILL BE NO FLAUNTING. 'nough said :) Sadder yet tho, if i'm going to be honest, is that i'm undeniably guilty of taking my lack of self-assuredness out on the more "beautiful people" that flood my peripheral vision, at any given opportunity. That is to say, and i'm ashamed to admit it, i'll make their lives that little bit harder if I can, justifying it by thinking of it as a kind of karma, if you will. After all, there are those whose mere entrance into a room will act as a blow to the self esteem of everyone else in it, whether knowingly or not. I almost feel obliged to make these people's lives a little less incredibly easy...after all, is it not about time they act had to work for something, without having to rely on their looks, the old reliable, to accomplish the task at hand with ease, if even that "something" is my "like" and respect? Forgive my bitterness, but i highly doubt i'm alone in my justifications. So yeah, if ever you feel i'm being particularly "snide bitchy and insincere" to you on any given day, take it as a compliment...chances are, you're looking particularly well. Perphaps i'm just green with envy...nahh, wouldnt go that far just yet =P
Anyways, i'd best leave it at that before i turn this "rape into a murder"...or if you'd rather not indulge in the glib and oily art of metaphor usage, this personal response to the topic at hand into a rantrantrant >< I realise i've strayed far from the "Perception of Beauty" blog originally proposed by Mar-fuck-a herself (Y), but I hope i've effectively tackled an issue close to many of our hearts which isnt voiced frequently enough, I do believe...an elephant in the room, if you will, no one dares talk about, enough, anyways. And well, if you found it difficult to relate to anything discussed above, consider yourself lucky...and as for me, don't feel the need to sympathise, I dont want your compassion 'coz well, I Do It To Myself, I Do, And That's What Really Hurts <3
-Anon.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Be Still, my beating fangirl heart!
Doctor Who Episode 2:In the words of Humbert Humbert, it was "Beautiful! Beautiful! Beautiful!". I didn't intend to write about it this week, but it was SO good, I need to. And schools back tomorrow so I need to channel this nervous energy in SOMETHING other than a pointless Hamlet collage. Anygay, as I obsessively aforementioned, the opening episode had really Tim Walker-y elements scattered around, but after seeing this one..I think he actually must be hiding on the Season Five set or something. Starship UK was just a cube of compressed twee, like the land from Paddington Bear meets The Red Shoes. Alien tails hiding in decrepit circus tents, 1950s pubs, beaaaautifully horrific fairground Smilers (want one for over my bed nowplease), fallen chandeliers, fruit markets, goooorgeous wooden buntings, bicycles with baskets and The Doctor's elbow patches with his This Is England rolled-up jeans over booties which I practically worship. OOH LA LA!
Which brings me seamlessly onto my next point: MATT, HOW did I ever doubt you?? I knew this day would come but I didn't expect it to be his the day of his SECOND EPISODE. (see: David, Forgive Me post). I think its because, even though elements are different, he IS still the same character..So sadly romantic and So mentally unstable..nom nom nom. And his skin in that shirt looks like the cream inside a pink Fondant Fancy. This season seems to be genuinely scary too, I literally almost regurgitated a lung in fear when the Smilers stood up out of their booths and WALKED.. The 'Voting Room' was just so fraking cool, with seemingly harmless vintage televisions but with the constant reminder of more sinister going-ons with those Alice-In-Wonderland buttons. "PROTEST" or "FORGET". Mommm?Helpp? And then the shockingly horrendous stuff going on underneath the ship. :O Yowzah, I thought this show was aimed at 12 year olds?! But I liked Liz 10 with that direct Princess Leia quote of "Help me, Doctor, you're my only hope". nerd joke! nerd joke!
Again, Amy is getting better & better..the fact that she's living out her childhood fantasies (NOT LIKE THAT) in a Peter Pan-esque nightie is just soo cool and iconic and brilliant. Its like she escaped the night before she HAD to grow up (on her wedding). Another reason NOT to get married kids! I'm glad this one is truly a quirky freak, not like the past companions wheo were like "Oh-My-Goodness-Aliens-I-Must-Be-So-Out-There-lolz". (I'm looking at you, Martha) PLUS she's by faaar the prettiest. Anyway, thats about all I gots ta sayy..maybe a weekly rant on this from now on? But thank GAWD its back. I'm self-harming in anticipation for episode three!
Martha ♥♥♥
I'm actually such a freak
IT WAS FORTY YEARS AGO TODAY.
:[
Well then, what better way (for me, anyway) to..COMMEMORATE the loss of The Beatles on this day than to display their beautiful genius through a representation from a first hand witness.
Martha The Sheepdog.
Martha feels like a third wheel amongst the inevitable growing love affair.
Martha nuzzles Paul like a baby lion and sells her newborn (the runt one) to distract Ringo, while simultaneously excluding George.
AWWWKKWARDDDD!
Martha turns away from Paul's ridiculous "man beard" in shame and disgust.
Martha has a nice cup of tea with John and gives him a right talking-to about his new lady friend. JOHN NO HAPPY
"Ugh yeah, I just..need to go out for...some milk..BRBKTHXBYE!"
Paul didn't come back. D:
"I remember John said, ‘I’ve never seen you like that before.’ I’ve since thought, you know, he wouldn’t have. It’s only when you’re cuddling around with a dog that you’re in that mode, and she was a very cuddly dog.”
AWWW YEAHHHH. But then..
"Whereas it would appear to anybody else to be a song to a girl called Martha, it’s actually a dog, and our relationship was platonic, believe me."
Well lets just pretend he didn't say that bit.
Well there you have it. I'm dead IMEANSHE'SDEAD, just like half the brilliant people in these photographs. But that music they have lives on...I spose..if it ever gets into the mainstream iTunes maybe.
♥♥♥
:[
Well then, what better way (for me, anyway) to..COMMEMORATE the loss of The Beatles on this day than to display their beautiful genius through a representation from a first hand witness.
Martha The Sheepdog.
Martha feels like a third wheel amongst the inevitable growing love affair.
Martha nuzzles Paul like a baby lion and sells her newborn (the runt one) to distract Ringo, while simultaneously excluding George.
AWWWKKWARDDDD!
Martha turns away from Paul's ridiculous "man beard" in shame and disgust.
Martha has a nice cup of tea with John and gives him a right talking-to about his new lady friend. JOHN NO HAPPY
"Ugh yeah, I just..need to go out for...some milk..BRBKTHXBYE!"
Paul didn't come back. D:
"I remember John said, ‘I’ve never seen you like that before.’ I’ve since thought, you know, he wouldn’t have. It’s only when you’re cuddling around with a dog that you’re in that mode, and she was a very cuddly dog.”
AWWW YEAHHHH. But then..
"Whereas it would appear to anybody else to be a song to a girl called Martha, it’s actually a dog, and our relationship was platonic, believe me."
Well lets just pretend he didn't say that bit.
Well there you have it. I'm dead IMEANSHE'SDEAD, just like half the brilliant people in these photographs. But that music they have lives on...I spose..if it ever gets into the mainstream iTunes maybe.
♥♥♥
Saturday, April 10, 2010
It was only a matter of time
So, it's been forty years since the break-up of the Fab Four, and while I'm obviously passionate about the subject, and spent my day in mourning, cough, I pray you my dear bloggers, let us throw to earth our woe and focus on the good things!
LIKE THIS FACE
Creepy or what (or lovechild)?
Anyway dudes, all I want is a little interaction; we all know my social anxiety needs monitoring, so tell me, who's your favourite Beatle? Favourite song, album? Lyric? Quote?
If you don't like the Beatles I would appreciate a 500 word essay on why on earth you don't appreciate them.
Don't forget what those lippy Liverpudlians taught us over the last 50 years
'The only word is love'
'All you need is love'
'Can't buy me love'
'Love is old, love is new'
'YOU MAY BE A LOVER BUT YOU AIN'T NO DANCERRRRRRRR'
Peace out.
Eimear £££
LIKE THIS FACE
Creepy or what (or lovechild)?
Anyway dudes, all I want is a little interaction; we all know my social anxiety needs monitoring, so tell me, who's your favourite Beatle? Favourite song, album? Lyric? Quote?
If you don't like the Beatles I would appreciate a 500 word essay on why on earth you don't appreciate them.
Don't forget what those lippy Liverpudlians taught us over the last 50 years
'The only word is love'
'All you need is love'
'Can't buy me love'
'Love is old, love is new'
'YOU MAY BE A LOVER BUT YOU AIN'T NO DANCERRRRRRRR'
Peace out.
Eimear £££
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Up up-down Down Left right-left Right B-A start! Just because we use cheats doesn't mean we're not smart.
As me and a potential-friend* were discussing earlier this week, perception is 100% subjective to the individual. But, maybe the only thing in the world ever that has to transcend particular opinions is THE ORIGNAL SEGA MEGA DRIVE SONIC THE HEDGEHOG. Holy Guacamole, it is pure, undiluted perfection (not from concentrate). Yesterday, I found all the games from 1991 to 2000 for PC for like €8 in Game, hidden amongst the scrambling nerdy 11-year-olds who I DEFINITLEY CANNOT MENTALLY RELATE TO. And loook hoowww wonderfully shit it issss:
* €2.99 that cost me in hallmark
Oh [Ctrl + PrntScrn + Ctrl + V], where would I be without you? NOMNOMNOM! The design is like an 80s workout video mixed with those weird geomtric shapes you get in Paint if you keep pressing Ctrl+I. I never had a Sega Mega Drive (my parents didn’t love me, what of it?) but there was one in my Granny & Granddad’s haus, and I basically hijacked it every time we were over there. Ooh the thrill of the box of Diamond Immortality, the dread of seeing Sonic burst into a thousand rings when he hits a spike or those awful invisible rockets that zoom by like the fish from 'Yellow Submarine'. Or even those pesky epileptic fits induced from all that flashing lilac in the sea (why lilac?).
But my point is, its funny how much weird “pointless” stuff gets sucked into your sub-conscious and firmly stays there. After watching all the demos and revisiting ma old Harry Potter games, so many aspects out of them look suspiciously like every bit of art I did from first year to the junior cert. So sue me, EA Games! Although PC games get a bad name, its obvious that they can have a positive influence, even though we’re cooonstantly led to believe that kids are being exposed to computers and now the internet too early. Computers CAN be so constructive, and not just the graphics from an early 90s arcade game. The internet is better than an encyclopedia. I read an article last week about princess of blogging Tavi Gevinson, and apparently her childhood has been “dented”. Ugh yeah, cause she’d be totally different WITHOUT a verbal public outlet? Righttt. I’m sick of journalists presuming that anyone under the age of 30 is either living in Skins or is a victim of this lightning-quick society. Kids aren’t retarded and usually are a lot more creative AND resourceful than the majority of the adults who use the internet or have blogs. Anyway, adorkable nerdspeak is a skill only attained after years of dedication to Windows 2000, L3mm3 t377 y0u!
And HAY I like Sonic’s logic of jumping on your foes and turning them into bunnies, with a cheeky grin and a blur of Am-ah-zingg red baseball shoes á la Alexander Wang Spring 2010. Anyway, even though that mo’fo’ Green Hill Zone Act 3 is trés (pronounced TREZZ in the French, I believe) difficile atm..today, in the words of my B.F.F.E Tony, is "a day of remembering”.
That was your daily stream of consciousness. CLASS DISMISSED.
But my point is, its funny how much weird “pointless” stuff gets sucked into your sub-conscious and firmly stays there. After watching all the demos and revisiting ma old Harry Potter games, so many aspects out of them look suspiciously like every bit of art I did from first year to the junior cert. So sue me, EA Games! Although PC games get a bad name, its obvious that they can have a positive influence, even though we’re cooonstantly led to believe that kids are being exposed to computers and now the internet too early. Computers CAN be so constructive, and not just the graphics from an early 90s arcade game. The internet is better than an encyclopedia. I read an article last week about princess of blogging Tavi Gevinson, and apparently her childhood has been “dented”. Ugh yeah, cause she’d be totally different WITHOUT a verbal public outlet? Righttt. I’m sick of journalists presuming that anyone under the age of 30 is either living in Skins or is a victim of this lightning-quick society. Kids aren’t retarded and usually are a lot more creative AND resourceful than the majority of the adults who use the internet or have blogs. Anyway, adorkable nerdspeak is a skill only attained after years of dedication to Windows 2000, L3mm3 t377 y0u!
And HAY I like Sonic’s logic of jumping on your foes and turning them into bunnies, with a cheeky grin and a blur of Am-ah-zingg red baseball shoes á la Alexander Wang Spring 2010. Anyway, even though that mo’fo’ Green Hill Zone Act 3 is trés (pronounced TREZZ in the French, I believe) difficile atm..today, in the words of my B.F.F.E Tony, is "a day of remembering”.
That was your daily stream of consciousness. CLASS DISMISSED.
Martha ♥♥♥
* €2.99 that cost me in hallmark
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Shut up. Kick ass.
Okay new obsession.There was Lily,Hayley,Effie,Veronica,Lolita and now there's Mindy Macready - she's the cutesy, adorable killing machine in Matthew Vaughans kick ass, which is one epic movie. Is it the purple wig? the weird leather material skirt? or maybe its the knife wielding awesomeness of her eleven year old self, i dont know. It may well be the fact that she is the ultimate antithesis to the main protagonist Dave. Harshly she is everything he isn't. Dave has charm but com'on its hit girl -She's a cute little cupcake with a goo-y inside of revenge and destruction, killing bad guys kill bill style- her catch phrases a little more superbad-esque- dedicated to her cause and armed with enough determination and charm to do so. If this is bordering on a little humbert humbert for you, fear no further-I simple find a little ray of light in the supposedly foul mouthed assassin ''hit girl''. She makes me wanna go out and learn karate or do something productive with my free time. As a role model she's possibly-in the eyes of the law not the best- but she represents savy street wise, skilled, determined,diligent,hardcore, cute,funny(re:PLEASE see the bat signal joke-DO IT) commited,adorable,loving kid- how many superhero's let alone a young girl have such a vast repertoire as that. Its Simple.She is kick ass. She kick's ass.So i leave you with this life change philosophy from the movie itself.
''I cant fly. But i can kick your ass.''
''I cant read your mind .But i can kick your ass.''
''I cant be invisible .But i can kick your ass.''
''I cant see through walls. But i can kick your ass.''
''Shut Up. KICK ASS.''
Emma ****
''I cant fly. But i can kick your ass.''
''I cant read your mind .But i can kick your ass.''
''I cant be invisible .But i can kick your ass.''
''I cant see through walls. But i can kick your ass.''
''Shut Up. KICK ASS.''
Emma ****
Monday, April 5, 2010
10 REASONS TO LOVE A MAC
Maaan my keyboard was getting a bit dusty there but I'm back...you're resident MacNerd is back. Why the 'Mac' you ask? Well..inspired by previous post..kudos to you;) for a second I thought the cartoon guy was the guy from The Road To Eldorado....anyone remember? Came out in Disney's semi-decent years?
ANYGAY (stole!)
I believe the word...'Mac' was mentioned in the previous post.....it stirred something within me (NOT THAT) and I felt I had to convert..I mean..write to you all about this.
*ahem*
THE APPLE MAC IS THE GREATEST INVENTION SINCE THE TOASTER...here's why:
1. It's SMOOOOOOOOTH....like a cat's fur..no awkward angles, no rough surfaces that when you accidentally scrape a nail off you don't shiver like you've just seen a ghost.
2. If looks aren't your things..maybe the operating system will tempt you..its EASY once you get the knack of it..and it's also..ridiculously smooth.on only has to click the little orange circle to see page zip away down to the bottom toolbar...it's fascinating and beautiful..like sychronized swimming or something.
3. The noises it makes are comforting. No horrible 'DOOOUH' error noise that can only be associated with your internet crashing on a pc and you losing everything that you ever jnew and it basically being THE END OF THE WORLD..no..none of that ...just a simple 'boing!' to let you know that something has gone wrong but it WILL BE OK.
4. The obvious but little known...Macs don't get viruses..all hail Steve Jobs for his moment of genius when he thought...'lets just not let them in?'..Do PCs get viruses?......well.
5. Their sprightly advertising campaign has convinced me that macs are 'cool', 'hip' and for the the 'youth' of today. In most films are the college kids on cranky dell 'tops or stylish macbook pros.....macbook pros CORRECT.
I could go on..but....I think you'll find these a bit more informative...and entertaining if you're INTO THAT.
So that's it
Marianne ♪♪♪
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Easter, Easter, what a ....feaster....
Somebody please tell me they know who this guy is
I've often left him out of the list of most important people/characters in the formation of my Kick-Ass sense of humour, and it is a gross omission indeed. For who else could furnish us nerds such excellent phrases as: 'Look! A three-headed monkey!' , 'You fight like a cow!' and 'That's the second biggest *object* I've ever seen!'.
And my friend Guybrush here isn't the only bloody brilliant character--what about LeChuck the undead pirate, Mayor Elaine Marley, Murray the Skull, the Barbershop Quartet, the Cannibals? GOLD, I tells ya solid frickin' gold.
I've you have not yet experienced Monkey Island I-IV, I urge you to go out and buy it/them. The PC version. Don't kid yourself with a Playstation. Or a Mac for that matter.
*Dick and Dom post to follow...so hard ot find the absolute best clips*
Eimear
Saturday, April 3, 2010
You’re probably not a betting man...RIPE AS A PEACH!
UPDATE: This is the post I did BEFORE the Who Rant. Idiot.
That wuz mi verbal repetition of mi Tom Waits impression from today and also from The Imaginarium (have I ever mentioned that before?).
Ughh I’ve been in town for like 9 hours cause I pimp’d my hair again..D: IS THAT ENOUGH FOR YOU SCURVYY? But ANYWAYY we saw Kick-Ass with Aaron “The John” Johnson and my new best friend Hit Girl. I’m not gonna go into a loooooong review about it but just know that it’s soundtrack is amaaazing (kinda like the randomness of Ghost Town) with Joan Jett, The Prodigy, Ellie Goulding and Ennio Morricone (who did the soundtrack for Lolita). Also Nicholas Cage is FINALLLY breaking out of his gawd-awful films phase and did this brilliant Adam West/paedophile performance in a moustache & cardigans. Red Mist left the door open for a Kick Ass sequel and Hit Girl was just ridiculous. The bit where she cut off that guy’s calves, her purple wig, the “Okay-you-cunts-let's-see-what-you-can-do-now” quote and the EPIC fight scene set to Bad Reputation were fucking HILARIOUS & so ludicrously horrific for an 11 year old that it just tied the whole kooky-indie (kindie?) tone together perfectly. The whole thing was more gory than anything Quentin Tarantino has even thought of (yeah i’m that serious) & funnier than..pffft..at least that re-tard Johnny Vegas last night on QI. Erg! Still angry at that. There was also the discovery of Cork’s BESTTT vintage clothes shop, some furthering of the Magical Coffee Tour, racist dogs, choking on ice-cream floats, Lolita, Lolita, Lolita, feverishly blushing about opticians (THIS WAS NOT ME btw), mmclassicalll referencessss in haaamlet..plus the pig latin machine in my head scrambled
“I wouldn’t care if john lennon punched me!”
out as:
“I wouldn’t care if punch lennon johned me!”
*cringe* I’m a retard. D: Well Tom Waits for no man. A haw haw HAWW! Because now Doctor Who is on. *barf* Matt Smith has a face like a turnip if it had hair. But there will be a review anywhoo. Okay time to leave!
Oh yeah and, before I forget:
Break me off a piece of THAT!
Marthaaa ♥♥♥
TRUST ME TRUST MEE I’MMA DOCTORRR (or Forgive Me, David)
Omfg, I was writing a post about today but i actually don’t care anymore after watching the new easter special of Doctor Who and debut of MATT SMITH. I felt physically ill with worry at the start of it (like WHAT the fuck was that new intro? :-S It was like a cyberman puked all over it). But I loved the food scene and the way everything was shot, despite the shit over-acting of Monsieur Le Smith. It so so reminded me of THIS and THIS photo by my lord and master, Tim Walker. The initial backround of Amy/Amelia was great too, I mean what girl hasn’t made playdoh models of the Doctor in her room? Just me? Okayyy. When she actually appeared as a grown up laydee, she (like Catherine of Tate before her) flew the flag for Ginger Hotness. Yeah, she did look like a prostitute (or Kissogram, as they’re called these days, apparently) in those seamed stocking but HEY! Besides that, she might possibly be my favourite companion yet, maybe just because of the predecessing obsession/ loneliness/independence which is SO different from the others (yes, even Martha Jones) who at times just seemed like carry-alongs. Then my respect for Matt “Face-Of-Too-Many-Angles” Smith plummeted into the floor again when he said the line “You’ve had some cowboys in here” which, AS WE AAALL KNOW, is a direct David Tennant quote. :’( And don’t get me started on the “wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey”. Noooo! But it was reaaally saved by the depressingly brilliant writing of Stephen Moffat. Homygodd, it had all that signature compressed freakiness of ‘Blink’ but in such a cosy, modern and (sorry for this but..) PARNASSUS-ESQUE surrealness that it carried along the opening New-Doctor-Awkwardness like a used nappy on a smooth ocean wave (we’ve all seen one, kids..Alicante 2008, jus' sayin'). The enemy looked like Sauron’s eye stuck in stalagmites, but here, even more so than the episodes before, the alien shtuff was offset with modern contrasts (ie: webcams, facebook, video phones) to a TEE. BTW, I can totally see a Beyoncé/Matt Smith remix being made on youtube from when he shouted “Videooo Phoooonnne!”. MAKE THAT HAPPEN! Anyway, thaaankfully the rest of the tone was trés Who and there was running/epiphany scenes galore..and..okay, well...here it is..
MATT SMITH WON ME OVER BY THE END OF THE EPISODE. Davidddd, forgivvvveee meeee! I don’t know whether it was the INSPIRED new outfit scene (he stripped..hee hee) or the comforting Tennant-accent or his genuine humour or maybe him saying “Oh you SEXY thing” when he met the new TARDIS (which is surprisingly yummy btdubs..so twee filled with typewriters and taps like that), but yeah, despite my initial hatred of the pear-faced bastard..I really really think he’s gonna be great. And the promo was so exciting..it looks so far-flung and surreal and just BEAAAUUTIFUL.
PHEWWW that was the nerdiest rant EVER. Well feel free to add to my verbal gagging, I’m going for a cream egg, a lie down and a plan to obtain my new bow-tie & suspender filled wardrobe.
TA TA!
Maartha ♥♥♥
p.s: david, you'll ALWAYS be my favouriteee! :-S
Friday, April 2, 2010
Thursday, April 1, 2010
"You are a great friend and I really value your friendship.
APRIL FOOOOLS!"
We spent the day playing games like Stuck In The Mud, Kick Shit, Hide & Seek, climbing trees, eating, abusing and photographing in Fota Gardens. fun fun fun! ATM we're all feverishly on facebook trying to manage our million notifications. :)
And we still have over a week off!
ttfn..
Martha
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