Nick's Blog
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24/5/2006 @ 17:39
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Normally I'm such a tolerant soul. Woodland animals frolic at my feet and I radiate an aura of calm and benevolence to my fellow man. But even the most passive, tolerant and mild of us have a few petty gripes. Recently, I was reminded of the following that makes my right eyelid twitch and has me reaching for the nearest chainsaw:
I hate magazines, TV shows and the media in general telling me "10 REASONS WHY YOU MUST WATCH 'LOST'". I hate that show! What a bunch of overhyped, meandering tat!
Dungarees. Or you might call them overalls in the US. You know, the John Boy Walton look that is favoured by the type of women who run lesbian vegan food courses or non-gender specific and non-competitive activities for kids clubs. No-one has EVER looked good in those things. Oh, and while we're on the subject of women's fashions....trouser skirts! It's either one or the other, not both at the same time! And footless tights are pretty grim as well...what's wrong with the feet bit?
People who refuse to stop at pedestrian crossings...especially when I'm walking on one at the time!
Family shopping parties. Why, oh why, must parents insist on taking their brood, their parents and their brothers and sisters to shopping centres on weekends? Then they expand to take up the entire width of the paths and then convieniently go deaf when you say "excuse me, please, coming through".
Disney songs. You can tell when people you visit have small children because their entire music collections seem to evaporate, leaving only the soundtracks to "The Jungle Book" and "The Lion King" which are constantly played on a loop and which, as a house guest, you're forced into singing. "Ooh ooh ooh, I want to be like you ooh ooh"...a song written in 5 minutes on the back of a beer mat! "Hakuna Matada", f*** off!
People who collect the novelisations of blockbuster movies and then proceed to say things like "well, in the novelisation you get to know why Ripley turns the flame thrower on herself" as if the book is some kind of definitive tome.
House make over shows. And house buying shows. And worst yet, house buying in a foreign country shows. Whilst we're on the subject of bad TV shows, you can take "Big Brother", "Neighbours/In-Laws/Pets/Waiters/Airlines/Holidays (delete where applicable) from Hell", and all kinds of "I love the top 10, 100 greatest/worst bits of the 80's" crap with you.
14 year olds in general. 14 year old girls have only 3 modes of communication: giggling, shouting and text messaging. 'SHAMILLAAAAAAAAA! HAVE YOU SEEN CAMILLAAAAAAAAAAAAAA? YES, I'M SITTING NEXT TO YOU AND AMANDAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" and "WAT R U DNG TNGHT?": Sending text messages to the girl sitting next to them on the train. 14 year old boys have 2 modes of communication: The shrug and appauling syntax when trying to swear and look cool. "So the f*** Craig are you f*** going to sh** skateboard down the f***ing park and sh**? "Nah I'm f***in' going to see Becky and the f*** sh** n'stuff, y'know?" Apologies for the swearing there.
People who've just had babies and who can only talk about the birth, the pains they went through, the biological mess, what it felt like when the waters broke, what the babies poop is like (I believe it's called merconium) and what placenta tastes like. And they tell you all this over a meal as well.
Adverts that use football to sell you stuff. As if those overpaid mercenaries that go under the name of "players" need the extra cash.
Militant vegans who tell you over a meal "do you know how that chicken you're eating died?" To which my reply is "yes, I killed it myself."
Rap and R&B. I don't care how big a rapper's dick is, or how much bling he has or how much of a playa he is and girls...get some self respect and stand up to "yo man" from time to time.
You know what, I also hate people who use their fingers to make little inverted commas when they want to highlight a word or phrase they've just said.
I hate it when you're in a pub or bar with a group of women (friends of course), and you're having a nice chat to them and anyone else there and everything is fine and dandy UNTIL some dance song starts playing on the speakers in the bar. Suddenly the girls go into a trance and start bopping where they're standing or sitting. The conversation and group dynamic suddenly dies as they bop up and down saying only "oh yeah, old school, have a bit of a bop".
Oh, and while I remember, I hate any attempt to make a workplace seem "whacky" with "you don't have to be mad to work here, but it helps" signs, singing sea bass gadgets and pictures of bored looking orangutangs.
History documentaries where the narrator or experts speak about past events in the present tense. "Eisenhower is worried at this point because he thinks the Germans are going to attack. He phones Patton and talks to him." I can just imagine the producers of this show saying (in a totally adenoidal voice) "Well, the kids aren't going to relate to history if it's not spoken in the present tense".
Lazy musicals that use a famous band's work with a crap storyline thrown in. "We Will Rock You: featuring the music of Queen". "Mama Mia; inspired by the music of ABBA". "Tonight's the Night; a trip into the fantastic with all of Rod Stewart's greatest hits!" I'm waiting for "No.22 Acacia Avenue: Inspired by the works of Iron Maiden".
Something Wifey does: She'll scream and yell for me, I come a-running to see what is bothering her. "Eeeek! A spider! Get it!" I reach for my trusty rolled up magazine and then she says "Oh, but don't kill it" What! You want me to get the spider but not squash it flat, or swat it away. "Can't you get a glass and a piece of card and use it to trap it and then throw it out of the window? Can't you make a device using a lever and pulley system that gently encases the spider so its feelings aren't hurt?" So, I try this glass and card system and before long, the mutant 8 legged freak has run onto my hand, up my arm and freaking me out. "Make sure you don't hurt it, darling" Wifey kindly points out to me!
You see, I'm such a mellow bloke.
Bottle Blog
22/5/2006 @ 14:32
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After my struggles with my toxic head, Wifey is now the sick one of the household. I was worried that she'd caught something off of me, but it turns out she has the 'flu whereas I only had an ear infection, a cold and conjuntivitus. So this means...I'M NOT RESPONSIBLE! YAY, YEA, YEAH YEAH YEAH YEEEAAAHHH! So I've got her wrapped up and on the sofa, and she's watching the TV version of "War and Peace" and old British crime thrillers where people used to be desperately gay but have lost that gayness and now are terribly, terribly, terribly, in a funk. I've always suspected a correlation between gay and funk.
The trouble with having one's spouse home sick with you during the week is that you have to smarten up your daily routine. I can't just throw socks, jocks and shoes anywhere I like around the flat nor, as I learned to my cost, can you just blithely eat snacks from straight out of the fridge.
WIFEY: "What...are you eating?"
ME: "A cheese slice"
WIFEY: "Ugh"
ME: "What do you mean, ugh? It's Emmenthal. It's cheese, it's good for you"
WIFEY: "Yes, if you want to weigh 300 stone"
Note how wifey equates a cheese slice with weighing 300 stone. This is Wifey's Law of Extrapolation. "If a mode of behaviour of a partner has the potential for harm or self-harm, no matter how slight, then a maximum worst case scenario resulting from said mode of behaviour will be presented to the partner in an attempt to co-erce him into ceasing."
I now no longer have the desire to eat any more cheese slices.
Blog Ambition
18/5/2006 @ 17:10
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I met up with a friend today; one of the ones that owes me money. I was reminiscing to her about my wedding day when Wifey and I exchanged vows, placed ceremonial manacles on each other and swore to swear to our dying days.
I brought this up with aforementioned friend because she and another friend (who shall remain nameless but a clue is that her name begins with 'E' and ends in 'le Evans') almost caused a riot at the reception.
I remember them clearly, their faces red and puffed up with too much alcohol. They kept pulling me to one side and saying "wheresthebandyousaidthey'dbeabandsowhereisitthen? Hey? Hey? Hey?" So I surmised they wanted to know when the band would be on and the dancing would begin.
The problem with asking the groom anything on his wedding day is that he knows the answers to about 3 questions and two of them won't be wedding related. I remember sitting nervously in the church, having my cravat straightened for the 80th time by my mum, having the vicar go through my lines one more time and then someone comes up to me and asks whether they can leave their jacket over a seat in the church or who to give flowers to. So having the girls ask me when the band was going to start performing was an excersise of futility on their part and wasting time on mine. I answered "I don't know...soon, I think" to which the reply was "man, this sucks...we wanna band!"
So I took full advantage at lunch today to moan in a loud voice "awwwww I wanna band! Where's the music? I wanna dance" all the way through our meal until the manager asked us to leave. But I think I made my point loud and clear. Well, loud at least.
Blog Cleaner
11/5/2006 @ 15:05
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Uuuuuuuhhhhhuuuuuuuuuurrrrrrruuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhuuuuuuuuurrrrrrr
uuuuuuugh. Cough, cough.
As you've probably guessed, I am still ill. Not only has the Otitis Externa persisted (and is very painful as well), but I have a stinking cold and conjunctivitis as well. So I'm blowing horrid chunks out of my nose, got brown ooze coming out of one of my ears and my eyelids are glued together each morning by goo and sleep. Ugh, my head is toxic! My whole head is one big bag of mank...yes, I can hear some bright wag tapping away at his keyboard going "I've known your head was full of crap for years, fnardy, fnar, fnar" well, I don't care...keep it up and I'll be sending you a bucket of ear goo. I mean, dogs get conjunctivitis, not thrusting young film makers like me! Should snot be that colour?
Ooooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Wind.
Blog Out
08/5/2006 @ 17:54
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Ugh, I've come down with a case of Otitis Externa...and no, he isn't a 60's soul singer either. It's an infection of the ear canal which is keeping me in my sick bed at the moment. I've lost most of my hearing in my left ear for the moment so make sure you type with your left hand a bit louder to compensate.
So, apart from a pus-sy discharge in my cochlea, what else is new? Wifey and I threw a cocktail party on Saturday which was a big success apart from my periodic episodes of dropping to the floor, clutching my left ear and going AAAAAAAHHHHHHH! every so often. A big thank you to those Rhubba members who showed up...a good time was had by all (except for my left Eustachian tube). Washing up the next day proved interesting: We couldn't use our kitchen sink or dishwasher all day Sunday because we're checking to see if they leak into the downstairs flat. So it was a case of doing the dishes whilst having a bath, and I can tell you now, Fairy Liquid left my skin feeling lovely and soft.
Aaaaaaarrrrrrraaaaaahhhhhh, my Semicircular Canal! AAAAIIIIIIIEEEEEEE!
Wind.
Blog Trek
03/5/2006 @ 17:08
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Greetings! I've just returned from a fantastic 4 day trip to Budapest. No reason for going other than I could. It's a wonderful place; full of beautiful architecture, stunning views, brimming with history and plates of food that are so big, they're negotiating seperate EU membership.
The Hungarian people are friendly and expressed their gratitude to Great Britain for being a beacon of freedom and hope during the dark days of Communism where every step a man took would be dogged by a surly Secret Police type, where beans were rationed, where even your toilet habits were monitored, logged and sent to the central bureaucracy for consideration and heaven help you if they didn't approve of your prima faeces material.
I spoke no Hungarian, or they English, but through the mutual international language of waving arms frantically combined with a couple of slaps, they were able to communicate their gratitude to me, representing every British man ever. They were also keen for me to return to Britain as soon as possible in order to communicate this message of goodwill. I took that message and I did return here as 'twas my duty.
So as we were a beacon of hope for the Hungaroids back then, so they are praying and hoping that we in the UK will one day gain our freedom from our overlords. So I say to them "Sri kum magna, chet svorza, kremlitude"...that's not Hungaroan, that's something on the back of this faded bus ticket I'm holding.
