Excuse Me For Laughing
Goodbye to All This
It was here.
A New Life
I have started a new blog! It gets updated everyday with hundreds of words! Words I have not nicked from elsewhere. Words that have swirled around my brain and found their way onto the monitor screen via the medium of my fingers. Hear me laugh, like a nutty professor.
Of course, it's about something: trivia, quiz-heads etc, the British scene, compadres and rivals, blah and more blah.
This blog is going into hibernation apart from the odd tagging and top twenty-five. Maybe I should call it hyper-hibernation, since it was pretty quiet around here to start with.
I'll think about posting a link to it here. Hmmm...
Blogger tells me
This is a blog of note
is it? You call that proper writing? Hmmm. Maybe. It is quite funny.Weekend:
flatmate had birthday party. Good for her. Good on us for celebrating the onset of mortality. Bully for us. Yah yah. Drank lots of Sol. Smoked lots of tobaccky. Is it just me or does the kind of disillusionment that grows with age act as the same kind of homunculus that tells you to go home early (because that's where everything is quiet and sane and your boredom is not quite so obvious)? Who knows. Didn't go out last night though. I have no idea why. Instead I spent it waving my fists at contestants on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire. That other blog is coming you know. Once I find the time. That isn't the time, by the way, that stretches out before me like the Bonneville Salt Flats every single day. It's the action time; the time that forces accomplishment. ACTION TIME. It is sadly lacking at the moment.
At least I didn't watch the whole of National Lampoon's Secret Weapon. Or whatever it's called (he feigns factual errors...). I've seen it six times already (spread over a period of twelve years).
What to do
I remember the days of IMND. Do you remember? Some people still talk to me about it as if it was the only blog I've ever written, while others mention that they are regular readers of these missives from my mind and that they seem to remember me writing about getting drunk quite a lot. The thing about IMND was that I posted every two days, quite simply because I had no job and was not being paid a living wage for whatever I wrote. I also hadn't written a 160,000-word book that made my witterings about The Pattern and The Parkinsons seem so utterly insignificant that the day-to-day way of writing reviews had utterly left my brain. So it was quite a good forum for my pop culture musings/posturings. But what about the new blog? I think I'll go through with it: slightly anonymously. I'm getting more paranoid with age, so any safeguards will help me gain some piece of mind. Possibly the piece of my mind that has not been invaded by the first recon parties of that thing called Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Did I lose my wallet/ leave the oven and the iron on/ leave the doors unlocked? Unless I consciously remember that I did those things at the exact moment I finish them. Arson and theft are my enemies. From time to time I always look at the redundant areas of my life and wonder what to do with them. It may be a minor thing, but I looked at the dozens, perhaps hundreds, of free magazine CDs and samplers I seem to have. I never listen to them. I do not want to throw them away. So what do I do? I spend two weeks importing them on to my laptop, so I can make use of them and find out if there was anything worth listening to them. Let's just say this compilation compilers (the legendary grey man of IPC, Roy Carr for instance, who glimpsed in his offices surrounded by sckyscrapers of CDs; if he fell in any direction, he would have been buried and not a sound would have been heard, until they smelt the first rotten wafts of his decomposing corpse, etc etc) really like Bright Eyes and Robert Johnson to pick a few instant examples. I now have something in the order of 1500 compilation tracks on my computer and I'm not even finished yet. I may even come round your house and filch Uncut CDs. You may not instantly recognise me: winter and laziness has forced the hair down and slightly to the side. It is the sort of thing that can turn into a six-month obsession. Actually it is already a one-month fit of something. Of course, it will then die and I will wonder what the hell was up with me, and find a new one to eat the time and make summer and the long days come quicker. Hmmm
I saw Eurotrip. It made me laugh at its abysmal stereotypes. Vinnie Jones played a football hooligan. Ha ha. Why are American teenagers in films so short and smartassed? It also had more penises and breasts than something with lots of genitals. That's what Sky Digital does to me. And The 40-Year-Old Virgin has so much swearing in it, I was almost shocked. I'm getting more prudish in my old age. Just one more thing
I promise I'll have my i-Tunes top 25 up once I stop spending aimless hours on Limewire stealing from rich people like Eminem and Lil Jon. Okay???? YEAH!!!!
Something odd has happened
I thought I was fearless but oh no.
Yep, I actually put up a new blog with an actual theme and loads of ideas to fill it, unlike this one which is like the weak vapour that a pathetic fart has just left behind. I wrote two and a half posts. I published one. The design was crisp and white and even. But then I got the fear. The fear that using my real actual bona fide name and having a blog could trigger a Telegraph fiasco and a loss of all my earnings. I couldn't use my name, the name my dad gave me like someone would hand you a dildo (and to try and explain it for the rest of my days), I thought, so I deleted the bugger. Yeah, I stored away my posts for another day but seeing my name triggered some silly but bad memories. So it had to go in the dumpster. I don't think I can get in trouble, but once you become paid for what you do and enjoying it somewhat, the attraction of doing it for free has to be so powerful that it overcomes the lack of monetary compensation; people have to listen too. I have changed. I know that the worst scenario couldn't possibly happen, and that blogging by hacks is becoming respectable, perhaps even a prerequisite, and I even made some statements like "there will be no comments about journalists or journalism or national newspapers AT ALL" but it wasn't enough. None of that was enough. And when it was done, I even felt a little relieved. Perhaps it was the thought of all that bloody blogging I had to. Look at me! What the fucking am I doing? This dialectic is going nowhere.
PS I bought FHM and NME today. Why, you ask, when it makes you so goddamn angry and tumescent with red rage! Why when one is all tits, bare skin and innuendo and the other has run a greatest ever British albums feature just so it can proclaim the Arctic Monkey's new album the 5th greatest of all time, of forever, of the centuries and all the hours that have ever been and ever will be, and amen?
Because we want to believe promises. Especially ones done in big, spunky fonts. That's why.
Your cowardly correspondent chickening out...
I'm completely lost for interesting words. How about vacuole? Palimpsest? Undergarments? Zeugma? Litotes? Sorry, it seems that I'm just reciting grammatical terms now. It appears that I think money grows on trees and that credit is as fecund as toilet paper, rather than as dangerous as black cancer. I spent way too much money in the States. Now I have to wear sackcloth and ashes. In my mind. Didn't get up to anything at the weekend, except work. Started smoking again. It was easy I tell you. Was accused of being a hypochondriac in an IOU. Cheeky fucker. Just because I see Boots as some sort of adult sweet shop, doesn't mean I think I have diseases entering every orifice all the time. I must get on with stuff. The kind of stuff that fulfills you. Unlike the food I am drawn towards purchasing at the moment. Living on ready meal spag bol at the moment. Alternating between supermarkets tho. I recommend M&S above all. You don't see any illegal immigrant crack addicts in there.
Fuck it. One day I will write better things. I know that makes you happy.
Over and out.
I'm back from Washington. I haven't slept in 36 hours. I need sleep. But I feel like acclimatising in a conscious state. Wait. What the fuck does that mean?
Have had hardly any internet access, so apologies for lack of contact regarding congratulations and serious life business. I also involuntarily gave up smoking and have not filled my lungs with cancer breath for ten days. I will probably rectify this situation as soon as I decamp to a pub with friends. Funny that when I actually saw Americans smoking I thought of them as filthy fucking lepers who perhaps deserved to die on a ventilator. I felt the self-righteous cockery of being a non-smoker return again. It feels so good to condemn the smoking scum. And I spent exactly one day going to the museums and galleries. Out of ten whole holidays. Every time I walked up the National Mall, Copland's Fanfare for the Common Man blared on my mental jukebox. The Lincoln Memorial was disappointingly swathed in tarpaulin and scaffolding. Abe's head was just about visible, but made him look like a mockery. As if the marble giant was being given a bed bath by invisible marmalian forces. The other days - well, whassamatter with films and food and shopping and really shitty TV? Eh? I watched more commercial breaks than actual programming. AND that was achieved with maximum flicking in search of actual non-advertising content. I tried so so hard. Maybe the consumerism materialism monetarism got to me. It got me bad. So bad. I bought books, books, books. I left behind socks and pants and gloves to fit the fuckers in. I bought lots of clothes from Banana Republic and Abercrombie & Fitch (have I spelt that write; blame it on my tremulous fatigued fingers). The preppy look (Carlton from Fresh Prince of Bel Air = style icon) was making inroads into my ragged psyche. I went over my £145 limit by fucking miles. Ooh, I feel so naughty for NOT DECLARING IT. I will write some more but here's some itty bitty little shitty stuff. On films. Films I saw in the cinema. On my own.
Top 10 films I saw in the States, whether by hotel payperview or the 'theater'
2. The Squid and the Whale
3. Good Night, and Good Luck
10. Will Ferrell's cameo in Wedding Crashers
God, I love being ahead of the game. It makes me feel prophetic. Not pathetic. As per usual.
One more thing: you should go on a Virgin Atlantic flight just for a go on the V-Port entertainment thingy. So much choice that paralysis is inevitable. Now bow down before the number one all-time scorer on the Inflight Trivia Challenge with 5200 points. Take that you fucking Virgin Atlantic using trivia losers. I RULE, BITCH! The delirium is getting to me.
Yes, I have just been watching Chappelle's Show Season 2. It's so fucking funny, I haven't stopped laughing like a mental hyena all morning.
Also, the wedding was ace. I realised that for the first and possibly last time I was at a proper big American wedding. You know, the ones you see in the movies. Like in er, Wedding Crashers (though you wondered: how the fuck would Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughan actually get a table to sit at? That's un-possible). AND I actually ate Chilean sea bass. Hmmm, sea bass. Sea bass cottaging dumb and dumber. Non-sequiturs proliferating. Now I can die happy-ish. Going back to the chilean sea bass bit, that is.