Blog Links Just some of the great blogs I keep stumbling on. Go for an explore, and if you see any really good ones, let me know...
- the hottest blogger I know. - I hate knitting. However, I love this blog. Who'd have thought? - If you ask me, it's perpetual brilliance! - 'nuff said. Inspired - inspiring.
- ...into light. Xenouveau - Her from Sadisticland. All Geek To Me - Fun from Scout Finch.
Elven Sarah - Witty and weird, a bit like me (but witty). Sedgefield - A nice blog, which may have died from meme deficiency... - A great lady had a great blog. Hopefully it returns...
superphase - A stick hero for the masses...
Sadly, we have been given the cold Shoulder. - a great blog from the continent, nice and warm there. - Not indulgent any more.
She Speaks - The star-crossed lover is now silent.
Organic Feminism - A tremendous blog. Even though she calls me Scoots *shudder*
You can no longer get your soup fix from souplover.
Well, I've found it difficult to write over the last few days, events have been all-consuming, and I haven't had the motivation to do anything other than vegetate.
We've had a firm offer on the house, after the surveys. It's less than we wanted, but more than we hoped, so I called the estate agents to say "We'll accept it, providing the remainder of the paperwork can be completed in four weeks." This will put moving day to late May, early June, if not sooner.
It still won't be soon enough.
She came around on Saturday, to tell me she's officially moving out in a couple of weeks. She's not been here for a few weeks anyway, except occasionally, when she likes to come in and argue.
While she was here we decided how to split up the furniture and stuff. She's getting the good sofa and chair, the good bed, the dining table, I get the computers, video equipment, ironing board, broken sofa, broken bed, futon.
It was quite a wrench when it came to the little things - photos of New York, the windchime I bought her because it had the chinese glyph for "love" - and we both ended up with tears inour eyes. Our marriage is dead, and the grieving process continues.
I would write "Happy Birthday". Not only would it bring joy to millions, I'd be raking in the cash! hehehe.
1 oklahoma - where the somethings run across the plain...I don't know the words, but i know the tune.
2 cat - Stevens.
3 Sun - Records.
4 Coffee - Michelle Coffee, formerly of Coffee and Cream (Phoenix Nights, english comedy)
5 Lotion - Ummmm.....Moco-lotion?
6 Train - Runaway Train - Del Amitri
7 Candy Cane - The Candy man, Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
8 Phone - I just called to say I love you, Stevie Wonder
9 tummy - When Doves Cry, Prince
10 bob - Never, The Infinity Doctors (backing by yours truly)
Normal Service will be resumed as soon as possible.
There is something wrong with my hand-eye coordination. I am unable to type anything out at the moment.
My spelling has degenerated to such an extent tjhat a word can take up to seven attempts to get rifht.
It's really putting a dampener on my writing, and I'm sick of it now. I'll do the mambo and the mind hump, and hopefully I can write something else.
I need to get out of this rut, I've important writing to do!!
I've sent off my application form to the college, to do a BA (Hons) in Media, Writing, and Production. Basically it's a movie degree, and with my passion for all things cinematic, Ican't think of anything I'd rather do. Here's my personal statement. This is the first stage. I need to impress them enough to get an interview. After that, I need to put together a portfolio:
I have always had a fascination with the moving image. As a teenager, I would cajole my friends into appearing in one of my comic endeavours, be it rudimentary stop-motion, sight gags, or Sci-Fi spoofery.This went in parallel with my interest in writing, until more recently, when I started to write screenplays. I have made a couple of my own shorts, which were captured from Hi-8, and edited using Adobe Premiere. While one was a simple exercise in production, another was made with the help of the contacts I had made from appearing in amateur productions, most recently in the S.A.O.S. showing of Annie Get Your Gun.
I have played the guitar since the age of 15, and performed at various amateur folk and pop concerts. This grounding has been invaluable in the production of my shorts, and brought home the added dimension that sound has in visual production.
Having used computers for most of my life, I am comfortable with the IT aspects of production. I customised my PC as a miniature editing suite, and published my short films to the world wide web. I have also tinkered with various CGI packages, such as Maya, Lightwave, and Softimage XSi, and my ten years of experience in customer-facing roles has given me valuable communications skills.
I am passionate about film. I have a large movie collection, which I am constantly increasing, and I am a regular visitopr to my multiplex. I believe that this course is perfect for me, and I am confident that I will excel as a student at your establishment.
Have I sold myself well enough? I'm biting my fingernails; I need this course. Without it I'll lose my sanity, and my hope...
This week free association - some fun with "I say, you think" with a crazy sort of Spring twist. First, as a warm up, using the letters G-A-R-D-E-N reveal six things about yourself.
Now that you're warmed up ... Let's hump, shall we? Below are a list of words. Respond with the first words, words, phrase or insane idea that pops into your head!
G - Generous
A - Angry
R - Reserved
D - Dentally freakish
E - Erm...
N - Noisy guitar player
1. hoe - Gardening
2. lips - kiss
3. butter - bread n butter, I love sarnies!
4. pie - pork
5. groovy - baby, yeah!
6. hook - Captain
7. believe - doubt
8. fountain - of youth
9. bush - *blush*
10. sprout - Barry, the time sprout (Robert Rankin is as barmy as me)
So here we go. Using the letters of your favorite band or artist tell us a little more about yourself.
They can be words or phrases, so the more craziness the better. And remember to leave a comment to let us know your done or even put your answers in the comments. Have lots of fun and you can take as much time as you need.
*shake shake shake*
P - Pay no attention to the man behind the Curtin.
I - Ignorance is Bliss. It's when I discovered my wife was a psycho that things went wrong...
N - Nincowpoop. Possibly the best bovine related insult Bugs Bunny ever came up with.
K - Kind. I'm kind of mean. (it seemed funnier when I thought it up)
F - Fingernails. They grow far too quickly, get tangled in my clothing.
L - Lazy. To quote the great Dave Byrne, I'm wicked and I'm lazy.
O - Old. I feel old.
Y - Young. I feel old.
D - Drama Queen. I get much too worked up about stuff.
I don't respond well to threats.
I will occasionally run away, or more likely, particularly if I'm drunk, become suicidally aggressive (just ask anyone who attended my stag night). Either way, the threat rarely has the desired effect.
I am at a loss to explain why my wife of eight years hasn't yet grasped this. Over the last 6 months, she should also have realised that I respond even less well to abusive phonecalls in the middle of the night.
Up until last week, these oral tirades would be on a Friday or Saturday night at around 2am, when I was still awake. Then on Thursday morning (2am) she awoke me from my slumbers for yet another unproductive argument. Hence my lateness for work on Friday. There has been another paradigm shift. I used to be able to expect a lull of one to two weeks between these disturbances, but last night, she called at midnight to say "Why are you such a f***ing t***?"
I hung up at that. If I wanted abuse, I wouldn't have split up with her.
She called back. "I'm moving back in, so move out or I'll make your life a misery!" Faced with this double whammy of irritations as I was, I was disinclined to acquiesce to her suggestion.
A lengthy argument followed, until she yelled "I just want some f***ing peace!" so I hung up again. She called back a few moments later, so I told her, "you said you wanted peace," and hung up again. She called again, I rejected the call on my mobile, and turned it off. So she called the house phone. "You can't turn this one off!" she bayed. I hung up. She called back.
It is at times like these that you wonder how the hell you managed to lumber yourself with a psychotic for a wife.
This time I told her I was making a note of the times and contents of her calls, as added ammunition when I divorce her for unreasonable behaviour, and hung up again.
She called again, this time in tears.
As I've said, threats and abusive calls cut no ice with me. Waterworks, however turn me into a complete mug. My chivalry processes kick in, and I become The Protector, damp shouldered hug machine. She knows this, and inevitably falls back on this when all else fails.
So I told her I'd see if I could arrange moving out for a week or so. I suspect I won't be able to, largely due to my parents (my only means of transport at the moment) being likely to say "To hell with that! You're not going anywhere until that house is sold!"
They have a point, too. She's unstable enough to try most things...
She infuriates me. It's my own fault for marrying her, I know. This annoyance I feel becomes all-consuming, like an unscratchable itch, and seriously impairs my concentration. This, I suspect, is the cause of my accidents, and my absent-mindedness.
I left my rucksack on the train today. Of course, I didn't realise this until I was boarding the second train, by which time my rucksack was taking a free trip to Manchester Airport (Incidentally, I left my gloves on the train on Friday, after the row on Thursday).
It's almost as if my subconscious mind is trying to erase her, but is as accurate as I am with a bowling ball. I think this memory failure may have been a contributory factor in the break up, but I can't remember. I can however, remember most details of most movies I have ever seen.
Luckily I only arrived at work an hour and a half late. The gloomily expected tsunami, volcano and meteor strike failed to materialise.
At least I have my rucksack back. I need to stare blankly at the blank application form, willing it to fill itself in...
That's it. My brain has shrivelled up to the size of a marble, and is now skulking in a dark corner of my skull pretending to be an eyeball.
It's been a while since I had a whine about my travelling, so I thought I'd relay my recent experience.
I read in the paper this morning about a man who was arrested at the Glastonbury Festival with 73 bags of magic mushrooms. He walked free from court today by claiming that he wasn't going to sell them, but make them into a mountain and gaze at it.
After arriving late for work (I overslept), I think he has hidden a stash of them in my sandwiches today.
I fell asleep on the train on the way home. This never happens. I was staring at the blank page of my notebook, and the next thing I knew we were pulling into Manchester. I'm very pleased I wasn't on the Edinburgh train.
I bought a Friday Treat and headed for the other platform. I've become quite adept at the logistics of Friday Treats now. I buy the coffee and the bun, carrying them in one hand, balancing my bike and train ticket in the other. However, today I asked for an almond Cameroon, knowing full well that African countries rarely taste of almonds. I also found myself laughing out loud at newspaper articles, something I never do, even in private.
I shudder to think how the day will end. I've already acquired two online stalkers (they're lovely girls) and a coffee date...
It really is amazing, the variety and frequency of fantastic ideas for blog entries you have, when you're at least ten minutes from a piece of paper...
I have a few nicknames at work. all better than the thinly veiled insults I've had in the past.
Scooter: For obvious reasons...
Curtin: Someone tracked down my website within hours of its reinstatement and copied a still from one of my films - "Curtin Parloe presents..." They stuck it to the back of my chair and I didn't notice for a day or so.
Mr Anderson: Spoken like Hugo Weaving, as my real name is vaguely similar to "Anderson".
Tron: A tortuous reference to my name, don't even ask.
I do get aannoyed with the barracking, but I suspect it will never end. Especially when most of it comes from the boss...
I have a love affair with words
They soothe me
My every waking hour is filled
For them to speak.
You are their sweet dominatrix;
To your will.
Such a hard mistress, but fair,
And through them
You master me.
You are concealed, unseen.
I am yours;
A willing slave.
I crave no freedom from this cell.
You and I
Charles lay on the four-poster, fully dressed, gazing sightlessly up at the canopy. Jamie was becoming a liability. The look in his eyes was unmistakable; who knows how many others the lumbering brute might kill, now he had a taste for it?
He turned over, trying to get at least some sleep, but his memory insisted on replaying the scream that chilled his bones, the iron tang of blood in the air, the security guard's grimace of terror as the last traces of life deserted him. He couldn't leave it like that. Frustrated, he rose, and grabbed his Webley automatic from the bedside drawer, and started attaching the silencer. Charles held his breath; the faint grinding of the thread was the only sound.
He padded over to the connecting door, and held his ear flat against it. He could just make out a low rumbling snore. Good, he thought.
With a slow turn of the handle, Charles eased the door open and slipped into Jamie's room. He crinkled his nose straight away; the stench reminded him of the bathrooms at Eton, stale sweat mingled with semen. He gingerly threaded his way through the detritus strewn in his path; beercans, pizza boxes, discarded clothing.
He reached the bed, and pointed the extended muzzle of the Webley at Jamie's prone form. The giant made no movement, save for the gentle rise and fall from his breathing.
Charles stood there for a moment, his finger tight on the trigger. It's justified killing, he thought. He took a life, and great pleasure in doing so.
He closed his eyes and lowered the gun, and it hung loosely at his side. No. I've done a lot of things I'm ashamed of, but I'm no killer. He crept back into his room and collapsed onto the bed, shutting the Webley back in the drawer. He lay there, considering his options, and eventually drifted off into fitful sleep. The last thought in his conscious mind was that he should have pulled the trigger.
He was right.