Rather than buy a copy of this weeks NME, I found some scans of a mighty fine article about Muse’s Wembley shows. This one in particular interests me, specifically the bottom left corner:
http://i156.photobucket.com/albums/t23/Nitram815/musenmewriting2.jpg
ANNOUNCE SOMETHING OFFICIALLY FOR GOD SAKE, YOU’RE KILLING ME!
No, not an astronaut. Not even the new Halifax advert.
This is in celebration of the fact that I HAVE FINISHED MEDIA.
IN. YOUR. FACE!
- First of all, MEDIA IS ALMOST DONE.Just got the supporting account left, which is only 700 words.
- I sent an improved version of my Hot Fuzz review into Havoc; I’ll see what they make of it.
- Still haven’t heard from Pizza Hut, whci is sad because the longer it takes the less I can bother about it.
- Abbi has a myspace. Not sure what to think yet, but she seems to like her position in my friends list.
- London was cool. I went in Harrods (they had a guitar exhbition! How awesome!) and Selfridges. I ended up buying some clothes in the Officers Club (somewhat of a step down from Harrods) and walking around every lingerie department in the capital. Not out of choice, mind.
- Lastly, my Food Tech practical is less than three days away. This makes me sad, as I will then be forced to suffer several months of theory. On the same table as Warren Cook.
My shower has made a small hole in our ceiling. And apparently its all my fault.
I’ll spare you the details but until further notice I can’t use the shower. And, being a teenager, I need them at least once every two days. How else am I supposed to get clean? A BATH?!
I hate baths. Its uncomfortable, the water gets cold quickly, its incredibly awkward to wash your hair and eventually it will hit you - you are bathing in your own diluted filth. Bleh. Plus, when I get out I immediately start sweating. For whatever reason.
What about you lot, all of the two people who read this junk (that reminds me - a little plug every now and then would be nice, wink wink)? Baths? Showers? Waterfalls in the jungle, under the eyes of furry mammals a’la those Herbal Essences ads?
In a recently released trailer for the Simpsons Movie, theres a very, very, VERY brief scene where three instrument- wielding men fall off a capsizing boat. Heres a screenshot:
Does that or does that not look exactly like Green Day?
That is, according to the inside of Havoc, this new SwindonAdvertiser supplement that came out today.
I am immensely interested in contributng something to this. I can write articles and be all journalisty whilst not having to do vox-pops and wear the shirt and tie.
The problem is, there is little to write about. Flicking through today’s copy, most of it is predictable, almost PSHE-based stuff on drugs and how they are bad. Well done, numbuts. You’d think all that mattered to teenagers in Swindon is drugs and, um, Parkour, apparently.
I have the chance to help rectify this. As someone who cares enough not only to read it, but also to blog about how Havok’s current content bites the big one, I feel I could write something about what people like me ACTUALLY ENJOY READING.
Lets take music. When I did a week-long course learning, ironically, how to make a magazine similar to Havoc, I was immediately grabbed by all the music-related stuff. Adverts for clubs, album reviews, stuff like that. I’d love to review an album or live show, but for all I know, the hip, happenin’ dudes at Havoc might be limiting their content to the stuff complained about a couple of paragraphs ago. And even if I write something, the editors have a slow news day and decide to print it, there the risk of someone I know reading it, coming up to me and saying something like “OH MY GOD, JAMES ARCHERRRRRRRR, WHY DO YOU, LIKE, LIKE MUSE SO MUCH, THEYRE NOT EVEN GOOD THOUGH”.
Its probably all about Swindon stuff anyway. And nothing interesting happens in Swindon. So I’m screwed.
The amount of films I’ve seen in the last few months has increased about 400%, but none of them were as original, cleverly funny or just plain awesome as Hot Fuzz.
It struck me as a mix between Shaun of the Dead (made by the same people), Transporter and Midsommer Murders, where Nick Angel, a skilled by-the-books Metropolitan Police Officer (Simon Pegg) makes his department look rather half-baked, so is relocated to a sleepy countryside village where he joins oafish PC Danny Butterman (Nick Frost), fighting what little crime takes place, until some strange (and enjoyable imaginative) deaths take place.
Right from the off there was one-liner after one-liner, and not one fell flat. The comic genius of Pegg, Frost and Edgar Wright shone throughout, and the brilliant climax was full of blatantly entertaining action. A lot of the humour comes from Pegg and Frost’s mismatched team and Cop Movie traditions set in the thoroughly british village, and there is fun to be had spotting all the pop-culture references (a lot of which are from SOTD). The best bits concern the local Neighbourhood Watch, which consists of the usual fuddy-duddy oldies - all of which have a psychopathic bent for surprising reasons - when Pegg asks why a hilariously untalented thespian had to be murdered, he is met with “Well, HE murdered Bill Shakespeare”. Besides that, the trigger-happy climax wouldn’t look out of place in the best Hollywood blockbusters.
I give it 5 Japanese Peace Lillies out of 5.
I’ve found my camera cable, thanks to some nifty detective work.
It all started when I found the wire with little coloured jacks, which connected my camera to a TV but not the computer (which is the one I wanted). Out of boredom and my mother wanting to look at some pictures she took, I plugged it in and found a video of my brother playing guitar in front of a bed. On the bed, clearly visible, was the coveted cable! After about 10 seconds of gormless staring, it hit me - it was the last place it was used, so it must still be there. A quick search of the room, and my elusive wire was soon found under a pile of clothes. Success!
So, now that my CSI work is done, have some freshly-uploaded photos of our Riff’s Bar gig on Friday night, t the expense of an actual review. Yay!
That was my head exploding.
I CAN’T FIND MY CAMERA CABLE AGAIN AND I’M WITHOUT STRAIGHT HAIR FOR WEEK AND I’M HUNGRY AAAAAAAAARRRGGGGHHHH!
I had the pleasure of watching The Birthday Party last night.
I found it excellent, although a bit confusing at times. Fortunately the cast seemed to know as much as I did, so its not that big a deal. I blame Harold Pinter, whoever he is (on a related note, evryone I ‘ve talked to seems to be quite familiar with him - I hadn’t heard of him until a few weeks ago. Whats up with that?)
I partucualrly liked the contrast between characters - the cheerfully oblivious Meg and the edgy, paranoid Stanley, for example.
I must, of course, congratulate Abbi, whose performance bristled with menace. In a good way, of course. If I were her, I’d be feeling pretty silly for getting all worked up about it. But telling her that would be tactless.
Whoops, did I blog that out loud?
