Saturday, May 17, 2003

So THIS Is My Punishment! Riiight...

Mood : Incredibly nauseous
Music : Rock Me Amadeus, Falco

I've been reading Awesome Man's 'blog again while I sit here feeling sorry for myself and hoping I won't have to make use of the bucket beside me. I HATE hangovers - and I always seem to get the really bad ones when I don't expect them. Yes I know the solution is to not drink so much - get this, I don't normally drink AT ALL. Last night I was feeling grotty and miserable. The wife forgot to call from Preston so I'm worrying that she didn't get home, and I had to go to bed on my own. OK I won't moan about that, it would be a little selfish. It's good enough that I HAVE her, moping about not having her right here is just a foolish passtime to get my mind off my wooziness right now.

But anyway, hangovers. Someone who knew me will have to tell me true, but Way Back In The Day I'm fairly certain that I hardly ever got really nasty waking up at 7am, clutching the guts and running to stick your head down the lavatory hangovers. Not never - it's my firm theory that *everyone* has to one day have a morning like that. It's Nature's way of telling us that what goes down must come up, thus illustrating the principle upon which alcohol induced nausea is founded, The Reverse Gravitational Vomit Threshold, or RGVT. The RGVT is calculated by hanging a person upside down after feeding them copoius amounts of ale and seeing how long it takes them to do the technicolour yawn. But anyway, Ireland - someone PLEASE tell me how the hell I have such horrifically worse hangovers than Liam ever got? And don't give me any of this the water was purer then, less additives, etc bollocks because if there's one thing I won't stand for it's preachy Organic Produce Monkeys. Just because he was (does a quick and rather frightening calculation) almost twice my weight (YIKES!) does not give him the right to handle his booze so much better.

On the other hand, I suppose I should look on the bright side. My hangovers are worse than any Liam had except that one time after Samhain but that was also (a) a seven day complete fast before (b) a huge Rite and (c) hypothermia from falling on his arse in a river whilst re-enacting the communion of the Dagda and the Morrigan, and I think he deserved that one. But they are infestimally better than Johnathan's. Now there was a "man" who couldn't handle his drink - well apart from in Naples, but Naples just excuses all anomalies as swiftly as it produces them. DO you know how difficult it is to tell the start of a CCEP attack from a dreadful hangover? The number of hours I spent over a bowl wondering "Is this the brandy, or do I need a doctor?" honestly, bloody Victorians...

I like happy poems too. I'm just abandonning that line of thought now - the hangover one - it only makes me feel worse. My favorite happy poem, or at least one of my favorites, is also graffiti. It is to be found on the wall of the Earl of Leicester's country seat in Norfolk, no pun intended, and was allegedly scribbled there by none other than George Gordon Noel, Lord Byron, 6th Baron Byron of Newstead Abbey. Isn't it lovely to know that the old Canonicals scribble on toilet walls as well? Here's what he wrote, roughly;

Oh Cloacina, Goddess of this place
Look on thy supplicants with smiling face
Here let their offerings smoothly flow
Not rashly fast, or insolently slow

I love that, I really do, in fact I love all of LB's humorous poetry. Doesn't it kind of make you wonder a little what the others would have written? There are six Canonicals, all with vastly different styles of writing - Keats, for example would never have made up a Goddess on the spot to use in a poem, unless his lack of education was worse than I previously thought and he thought he was making up the ones he used anyway... Wordsworth would want to have his morning supplication out in the countryside I expect, so he'd have nothing to write on, and frankly I'm not sure Shelley ever made a supplication to Cloacina in his life, "uptight" would well cover that young man. Have you ever read Shelley's funny poetry? If not, chances are that's because you never went looking for it, and there's a good reason it doesn't get put in his collections. Would you like to know what that reason is? It's because anally retentive repressed wannabe alchemists should NOT try to write funny poetry. "Funny poetry is not funny" write it out a hundred times Percy, or there'll be trouble.

Getting back to favorite poems, I am not the sort who believes they SHOULD be depressing, but it's a sad fact that one of my favorites is a very depressing poem, particularly when it was used in "Tale Of A Vampire" It's a bit long, so I'll just give you the last stanza;

And the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee
And so all the night tide I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride
In her sepulchre there by the sea
In her tomb by the sounding sea

I adore Poe. And Julian Sands, he's in the film, and he's cute. You know one thing I never really liked? "The Raven" - unless of course we mean the special version about plotting revenge on Thursday Next - that I like. I just don't understand the popularity of that poem, is it *because* it's so easy to parody or something? Granted, it's good, it's classic Poe, but is it any better than "Lenore" or "The Coliseum" or for that matter "The Conquerer Worm"? It is admittedly better than "The Bells" which just makes no sense and has too disrupted a rhythm for me... but please, guys - if you're going to talk about Poe, the first person to say the word "Raven" needs a kicking, which is why I always jump in with Annabel Lee straight away. Poe, like Gaston Leroux, was actually a journalist - and they're both remembered primarily for one short piece of Goth that has become an incredible institution. In Leroux's case, a novel that had everyone thinking he'd finally flipped (ah hah but they'll know the truth soon, my pretties...) and Poe's case a poem that had everyone.... well let's be honest, Poe HAD flipped. Delirium Tremens.

Oh dear, mammoth entry again.. sorry guys.

Friday, May 16, 2003

Feeling Strangely Fine

I'm a Loser baby,
So why dont you kill me?

Mood : Achey
Music : Here, VAST

Right, I'm typing this directly into Blogger and not in a notepad file as I have acquired the habit of doing since Raoul keeps throwing blue fits whenever I try to do this. But anyway, hello, I'm here. PULSAR bar crawl was fun - I played a damnfool game (which incidentally I gracefully conceded the loss of because my knee damage from last week is evidently going all the way up my leg. Fun!) and had a few pints. Not a very eventful crawl really, except Louis the Wonder Spod and I swapped tops in County. His shirt was far too big for me so we swapped back pretty damned fast... so, yes. Hello.

I feel like taking some online tests, but sadly I can't actually think of anything I want to be tested for. So here you go, Damn You Must Be Bored To Read This Productions proudly presents;

Top Ten Songs/Musical Pieces To Have Sex To (In No Particular Order)

Rachmaninov's Third - This one should be totally obvious - the frenzy, the passion, the utter raw madness in it. Interestingly, when I had sex to this one, the music was apparently struggling to keep up. *grin*

Down With The Sickness, Disturbed - Fine rhythm, good for trance purposes, excellent shagging.

Loverman, Nick Cave - "There's a devil crawlin' outside your door (how much longer?)" 'nuff said

Toccata and Fugue, JS Bach - *damn* that was fun

The Masochism Tango, Tom Lehrer - A moderatly worrying choice really, but anything that's a tango hots me up good and proper. I'm sorry, you didn't really want to know did you? Never mind, your fault for reading a post-bar crawl 'blog.

Zombie, The Cranberries - Not sure why, but somehow it works. Maybe you have to be in the act before it comes on, but maybe not.. oh I don't know. But it's good, try it.

Pretty When You Cry, VAST - Please don't anyone take that as a comment on my tastes in bed...

Appasionata Sonata, Beethoven - *smirk*

El Tango de Roxanne, Moulin Rouge - Again with the tango-ness

Music of The Night, Phantom Of The Opera (Crawford version only) - Long, slow sex. Gentle, passionate, brilliant, blow-your-mind to the moon and back sex. GREAT fantastic.. okay you get the picture. Try it some time.

At some point I will do a whole series of sex things, just because I generally don't talk about sex on my 'blog. It's not that I'm repressed or anything, I just don't dry my linen in public except where drugs are involved, like last night where we were all talking about where in the house we'd had sex. Only one of my housemates has not had sex on either of the sofas, most of us have done both. Some time maybe I'll do "Top ten places for sex" or "Top ten things to watch whilst having sex" - is watching a movie whilst having sex rude?

Depends on the movie I suppose...

Thursday, May 15, 2003

Dude, This Is Pretty F****d Up Right Here, Part 2

The fact that I actually have no idea what really went on prevents me from saying it, but suffice to say that this morning was really REALLY weird. And the weirdness quotient is not being helped by the fact that The Simpsons is on in the same room as me (remember my rant about Television as audiovisual wallpaper? It stands, MouseWouse is waiting for BtVS to come on) and it is as usual utterly bizarre.

Ok I really didn't actually have anything to say... Just that *MAN* that was weird...

Wednesday, May 14, 2003

Dude, This Is Pretty F****d Up Right Here

I *think* we went to Poli's house.......
I *think I drank his homebrew*......
I *think* at some point he put a funnel in my mouth.....
I *think* Liam is out to play tonight...

I also think Mr BC AKA Louis should perhaps go to bed and then NOT get up and have a conversation on MSN then mutter something inexplicable and take the (untouched) drink I fixed him upstairs....

Oh alright I suppose for a night of looking Rocky Horror and wearing very little, I don't look too awful. Just please try to ignore my multiple chins and look out for a sign of my true daemonic nature!

Sorry, No Smart Title Today

Dont get drunk and slam the door
That's no way to end this

Mood : Inexplicably bouncy
Music : Bach, Toccata, Adagio and Fugue in C Major

Ok this time it wasn't Blogger that cacked itself and lost my entry that I wrote earlier. This time it was my computer. This is the second time I have accidentally pressed the awkwardly placed off button and lost work, and for such awkwardness and annoyance, I shall name my new machine Raoul. Thought I'd keep with the theme, since the old one was called Christine Daae. So here I am to try and rewrite this morning's lost entry. Grr.

I was informed this morning (when it was far to early to be told *anything*) that the RP goes around singing the same random lines from songs that I do. The exact same lines. Heavy sigh. I had a very worried MouseWouse this morning as she has her interview at St Martins. We all know she can do it - don''t we, beloved readers! Three cheers for Stanzi!

Have decided now that I have only revision to do and must thus load myself down with uneccesary other work that I will (as well as continuing to write and rewrite my Vegetarian polemic) write something for the Guild forum in essay form. I am after all an incurable Romantic and feel we should bring back the published essay outside of academia. It was a great old form, and a sad loss to us. I'm toying with ideas about the use of mythology and the use and meaning of poetry for subjects, but we shall see. Give me drugs, and I shall produce work, it's the way it works.

Ooh that reminds me, I got an invitation to attend the presentation ceremony for the Keats Shelley Memorial Trust call for papers that I entered. To be honest, I wasn't expecting to get anywhere and won't be dissapointed if I find out that I haven't even got runner-up, but just think how proud I (and for that matter Sally as it was she who poked me towards the competition in the first place) will be! You'll never hear the last of it I tell you. But since that is on my mind, time for a bit of a ramble. It's still too early for rational thought you see. Reading Shelley biographies is a puzzling experience. If you read say ONE biography, you'll be fine. You'll think perhaps (if you read the one in the book my wife recently picked up in Rome) that he was born at Field Place, Warnham, and that the boat he drowned in was called the Ariel. Except of course that it had "Don Juan" painted across the sail and that there is no such place as Field Place, Warnham. It's Field Place *Horsham* though I recently read that this mystery has been cleared up as Horsham and thus the gorgeous and stinking filthy rich Field Place estate, home of the Shelleys for several centuries, is in the parish of Warnham. The boat naming was due to a little petty squabble with Lord Byron, I may well talk about it another time. But for heaven's sake people, TRY and agree on something as infestimally meaninglessly tiny as the man's eye colour!

Were they blue, as childhood friend TJ Hogg claims? Were they brown, as claimed in his portraits? Were they electric green with pink stripes, as nobody in their right mind would claim? Or, as is my own personal theory, was Shelley an early wearer of coloured contact lenses? Ground with a fine lathe from oyster shells, which would explain why he has "Those are pearls that were his eyes, nothing of him that doth fade" on his grave. It's possible you know, Shelley was an illustrious (AKA bloody danger to himself) scientist...

Alright I well know it shouldn't bother me, I'd just like a little agreement! Right well, back to my life. Went for a Chinese meal for Shortbread's birthday - we actually just had toad in the hole but we ate it with chopsticks and wore kimonos. Not really of course - but there were chopsticks, and sake, I love sake. A good meal was had by all, and actually I remember very little that has happened in between. My knees still really bloody hurt whenever I lean on them, and photos are now apparently avaliable from the Screaming Queens bar crawl. It'll vet them and post a link maybe if I don't look horrific. Think I may now go and do some real work.

Wow, I got to the end of an entry without Raoul throwing his toys out of the pram!

Sunday, May 11, 2003

The Sunday Column

I could watch forever,
I could watch for hours

Mood : Suspiciously studious
Music : Meyerbeer's Cornonation March

Hello beloved readers, guess who? Its Sunday Column time. Let me briefly explain the Sunday Column concept; Sundays are a day for baths, facial treatments, deep conditioning your hair and generally sitting around not doing much at all. For some, though thankfully today not me, it is a day for holding an ice pack to your head and phoning Crimestoppers to see if they are willing to run a reconstruction of the previous night so that you can find out his/her name.

Sunday is for having time to read someone else's opinions. The Sunday Column is to facilitate this process in a handy-dandy electronic medium.


The television is a great invention. Every Thursday night (when I am not too buried under mountains of work, which these days is rarely) I sit down for an hour and engage my suspension of disbelief. Sometimes, for a break from the written word, I do indeed indulge in the History Chanel for a small while. In other words, I do think television is a good invention. Without it we could not watch videos. But for crying out loud - it is not supposed to be used as wallpaper!

Let me explain; yes, I watch television. I am not hell-bent on living in pre-television days no matter how much my roomful of candles and persistent rambling about the Good Old Days may lead you to believe otherwise. But the first thing I do when people leave the room not to return for a while is *switch the damned infernal machine off*

"I need some noise in the background" well turn the radio on then. Listen to Radio 4, or the World Service, you'll get just as much programing variety and you won't be transfigured into a zero-calorie trance before the dancing lights of the idiot box. "I want to catch the news" Ahh, a valid excuse - but however... you can always learn when the news is on, switch the televsion on for it, watch it and then *switch it off* or you can watch News 24 until it starts to loop and THEN *switch the bloody machine off* OR horror of horrors, you could go yto the extent of picking up a newspaper.

You see, my problem is not what they put on television, though to tell the truth its nothing like as good as the programming when I was a nipper. Well I'm still a nipper but my teeth are bigger now, so the phrase stands. My problem is with people just passively sitting there and taking it all in, like they're being spoon-fed sedative laced whoreshit. And the worst thing is, when people get like that they can even watch educational programming and STILL just blank out! If you are using television as a low-effort hours break from work, THEN by all means watch it. If you are sitting in front of the mind-numbing roll of light and colour for hours on end slowly turning your brain into cheese, I wish to introduce you to an old friend of mine.

My friend comes in many shapes and sizes and changes its skin seemingly at random. You can use it to go to other worlds, fight monsters, have a safe fright and even (O heavens forfend!) learn something. My friend is called the book - and I suggest everyone who routinely spends more than two hours watching unplanned purposeless television becomes thoroughly accquainted with it.