Primer

**SPOILERS**

I am so stoked about this movie. Realistically I've just come back from Snakes on a Plane, one of the planets most thoroughly enjoyable action movies of all time (I was surprised to find), and one of the funniest to boot.

Snakes on a Penis? Hell yes.

However, despite only very recently returning from Snakes on a Plane, myself believing I was incapable of being wowed by a film any further that evening, I ended up at a sleepover at my good friend Gareth's house and found myself walking with Al and Em at the briskly chilly time of eight-thirty in the evening to the local DVD repository. Thinking it might be good to utilise the "3 for 2" offer there, Em thought it would be fairest if we picked a DVD each. Fair enough! Emily chose Narnia, I think Alex chose Fun With Dick and Jane (or maybe I chose that one too...) and I picked up Primer.

So, we watched Narnia, some of Gareth and Emily's friends invited themselves over (until 7 in the morning) and the house slowly began to fill with people.

After Narnia we just sat around and chatted for a while, I ended up making "nachos" (cheese Doritos + grated cheese + any kind of salsa dip + microwave on full power for about 3 minutes = boiling heartattack of doom) and eventually we watched the heartwarming and comical look at the downfall of a huge corporation through the eyes of an employee which was Fun With Dick and Jane. This was possibly one of Jim Carrey more manic roles. Yes, nothing can quite beat Ace Ventura, but Dick came awfully close. The rendition of the drunk corporate puppet in the middle of an upscale bar was phenominal. "Dear, I'm in a meeting!"

After that we fell "asleep", if you can call the fluttering, hazy cross-conscious stutters of a sleepover "sleep" at all. What with everyone groping eachother and screaming it's a wonder anyone got a rest at all.

Eventually I packed and left, walking with Emily part of the way and agreeing to give her some music sometime later that day and i was permitted to walk away with Primer.

Now, the movie:

**SPOILLY MCSPOILNSPOIL!**

Primer is set around a bunch of guys (two in particular) who enjoy building mind-bending pieces of equipment to explore the realms of physics in the little spare time that their strenuous jobs allow them. Very early into the movie two of the characters, Abe and Aaron, "break off", after a fashion, to build something a little different from what the group tend to expect.

They end up creating a machine from spare parts hacked from such varying places as their microwave, the under-bonnet of a car and (nearly) the back of the fridge. This machine, initially atleast, appears to reduce the mass of an object within it. Where does the mass go? It appears that it's converted to energy to perpetuate the motion of the machine for a certain amount of time, but that's not the weird part. After a chance encounter with a certain kind of mould which grows on the outside of the test subjects they use (not live, that's just wrong) they determine that what they have created is some kind of time machine.

A variety of crazy stuff ensues and the rest of a the movie is an interesting look into the various paradoxes surrounding time travel, as well as the stirring and provocative pseudo-superhero paternal nature of the two characters in their attempt to create a better world for themselves, their friends and families.

I'll leave it at that, you can watch the movie to find out the rest.

I was incredibly moved by this. The acting is astoundingly good, the cinematography is incredible (and the film makers are not detered by high noise scenes set in real darkness, something i feel a lot of films do not do especially well) and everything about it just screams of something truly special.

This one gets the Joe Beaver seal of approval. Twice. Make it three times, for good measure. And add some ice cream to it too. Yea, it's that good. Haul out the Ben and Jerry's fellas, it's go time!

generic update

Listening to: hellogoodbye - All Time Lows
Reading: Stephen King - Everything's Eventual (substory: Everything's Eventual)

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I'm going to try and incorporate that kind of stuff into my blog entries. It might introduce some of you few readers to something new or spark some kind of mutual awesomeness between us.

I really wanted to blog here about Twitter, which is an awesome blog module update service (you can see my thingy on the left) which updates from text messages from your mobile phone. It works on the basis that "every moment of your life you have a certain feeling of status or that everything you see has some kind of caption" and that you should never miss the opportunity to tell people about these things. And I can't get this damned thing to work.

I don't know whether it's because I'm having to text transcontinentally or not, or I'm just doing something wrong. And it's damned expensive, so I won't be doing it too often anyway.

Also: hellogoodbye's new album is awesome. Eclectic, whiney, poppy and trippy it makes for a very rounded listen, and I love it.

Go "buy" it right now, whatever it takes!

In other news.

I need some server space. Anyone wanna hook me up? I'll love you long time...? And- HOLY SHIT, CAT! CAT ALL UP IN MAH GRILL!

Oh my goodness, that's a bit groovy!

I've just happened accross RADIO.BLOG.CLUB and have been inspired by it's esoteric levels of grooviness. I'm genuinely amazed! If I wanted to I could slap a snazzy player on my blog (or I have been mislead to believe) or very easily add a playable bunch-oh-shiz into a post! Like this:



or this:



Now, tell me that's not cool.

If I could figure out some kind of shortcut method of putting in what I'm listening to/reading/watching/feeling when I blog then I can just slap this in and you can listen along too! Oh, I feel like a giddy schoolgirl in love!

I also wanted to bring attention to the fact that hellogoodbye have a brand-spanking new album out. Admittedly, they're a geeky bunch of emotechno boys, but they try so hard, bless 'em. Go buy it, make your ears happy, so happy that they eschew their waxy innards for the greater (but not immediate) good.

The Big 60!

Woohoo! My 60th blogged blog! What have I in store for you, sir and madam Fevered Reader? Why, a cornicopic plethora of bloggy treats, the likes of which you have never before seen!

And when I say "a cornicopic plethora of bloggy treats," what I actually mean is "I changed the layout a bit."

Hey, I think it's nice! And I certainly think it works better than ye olde blue blog, and Joe is a green fellow more than a blue one (the blog matches my eyes now!). I need more cool bloggy things.

I'm kind of wetting my pants at the minute, sitting in my dark little room with my shiney new laptop, listening to Spike and Raychul (and no complaints about my spelling of Raychul's name, that's how it is spealt), just capable of hearing the splashing of rain in the puddles outside and completely incapable of ignoring the lightning and thunder. The reason I'm so worried is that a friend of my mother had her computer completely fried the last time we had a thunderstorm. I'm not quite sure what happened, but it's taken her three weeks to get it running again (hell, I don't even know if it is running again yet!) and her hard drive was completely wiped. Admittedly, lightning did touch down right across the street from her, and the likelihood of that happening is very small, but I've just gotten nice and compfy on this damned machine; the desktop clean and uncluttered, the background sparkling and bright and the visual style crisp and stirring, and let us not forget that I've only just got all my programs installed again!

Wah, that paragraph was getting on a bit, becoming a little scary in its gargantuity. I know! Lets reroute this and I'll talk a little about Spike and Raychul. Actually, I'll talk about Raychul. I mean, yea, Spike is a great guy, incredibly entertaining, stark, honest and beautifully brutal and blunt, but surprisingly deep all the same! And he's a photographer too, so kudos to him. But Raychul... Jesus Christ, I think I've found my perfect woman (along with every other gamer on the net).

This (on the left) is Raychul. She's a model. Not a dirty model, just a model. Ok, so she's a skinny little blonde girl, and that's not usually my type (and still isn't to be honest), but she is attractive. As well as this she works at a computer game store, one of the big American chains, and games hardcore stylee in her spare time. Most of you would stop reading here, know nothing else and think, "crikey! I gots to get me some o' that!" but wait, there's more! Ocassionally (almost constantly) Spike and Raychul feature sex and relationship talks on their podcast, and, during one of these sex talks, Raychul admits that she doesn't ask much from her boyfriends and is easily pleased. The point I'm concerned with is that she says, during coitus, she prefers to be on top. In fact, she prefers it if the guy just lies there and lets her do all the work. Apparently it may not feel as though you're doing anything to satisfy her, but she assures you that you are.

I'm sorry to be so shallow, sex really isn't that big a thing for me (ok, so i'm a very sexually person, but I can play it down) but I think there is something awesome about that. As well as this, from what I can tell, she is a really lovely person too.

Oh Raychul, if only you were lonely!

Bingey McBingeBinge

Finally, after the longest of times, I've managed to lay my eyes once more upon the God among men that is Benjamin Burns. And let us not forget his beautiful ladywife Natalie! And Matthew! Matthew, our own little Adam Buxton, a little island of absolutely madcap hilarity in this great ocean of grey boredom. And you'll never guess what we four, party loving, alcohol appreciating perfectly legally drinking 18 year olds did; yea, that's right, we went to Nottingham, binge drinking capital of the orient that is our belovedly sleezy East Midlands.

We started the night at the Gatehouse with a bottle of Magners that Natalie could not convince me to let her pay for, that is up until Ben told me to let her. I'm not sure why I agreed with Ben, maybe it's because I don't really like spending a lady's money and in having Ben ask I was tricked, or maybe it was the fear that Ben might beat me up a little. Either way, the drinks were bought and consumed in the chilly night air of the Nottingham pavement.

I can't remember the conversation exactly, apart from I remember Natalie talking about she used to drink there when it was a smelly old man pub and she was under age (before the massive crackdowns on ID) every Sunday before Rock City. Apparently they never cottoned on that Sundays were under 18s nights.

From there we headed upto Cast, home of the Cherry Stone cocktail and the greatest barman in the world: Chico. We started our stay there by having Chico throw ben a free shot of something potent and green and then moved on to something stronger for all of us. And then another set of shots. And maybe another. And then I got lost trying to go the toilet and ended up in a private area of the bar that I shouldn't have been in. When I finally did find my way to the toilet I couldn't get in because it turns out I was pushing against the side of the door with the hinges on, rather than the one I was supposed to. It's not like I'd had a lot to drink or anything... Heh...

I came back to the bar to find Ben asking for something cool and sippable, and a pitcher of it at that. So, Chico stylishly mixes us up a glass of ice and something horribly tangy and we all take a sip. Ben takes to it alone, although for one reason or another he shouldn't be drinking too much and Natalie's starting to get worried, so I take it upon myself to finish off the glass before Ben can get to it. Blech.

In reconpense Chico mixes us up "something sweet", and this would be the Cherry Stone. One part Amaretto, one part melon liquer and one part cherry liquer. Squeeze a lime into a glass, add the Amaretto, then the melon liquer and then the cherry liquer, shake with vigour and strain. Oh my goodness, it's like drinking a smooth, liquid cherry drop! And doesn't sting in the least! I am enamoured! Woohoo!

Ben then managed to scrounge some food from the kitchens (as he works there he gets these special privelleges) and got us two whole portions of "thick chips", one "chip" being about an eighth of a giant, planet sized potato. Ooooh, it was all so good! But this is poor quality writing, and I apologise for it, but I am quite tired and I do still stink of cherries. You'd imagine it'd be nice, but it's been twelve hours now and I'm just feeling ill.

After a while some of Ben's cook friends showed up; some nice fellas and some scarily chavish guys. I'm not sure quite what first allerted me to it, the branded tracksuit, the hoody, the cap or the "air shox", or the fact that when talked to about food he would always respond by claiming that whatever it was was "fuckin' wicked, man".

I never ever thought I'd hear someone ever say "panacetta, fuckin' wicked, man. Fuckin' wicked."

Ooooh-kayyyy.

So, a day later and the novelty still haven't worn off.

Like a new lover I am determined to blog in every room of my house (power sockets and phone cables permitting) and then maybe in the bits of my house that aren't even rooms, like doorframes, windowsills and each of the various rooves.

NB: the plural of the word "roof" can be either "rooves" or "roofs"! This applies to a whole plethora of words, such as "leaf", "hoof" and, for you LOTR fans, "elf" and "dwarf".

... I am so tired... But I can't sleep yet, oh no! I'm watching [adult swim] and listening to Bayside's "Acoustic" EP, put out in dedication to their deceased drummer, John "Beatz" Holohan. It's beautifully moving. I wouldn't imagine too many of Bayside's tracks would do well in the tender world of the acoustic set but the guys manage to put a lot of heartfelt "emoness" into their performances. I'm not ashamed to admit that I cried a little. On the inside.

Oh the novelty!

I just thought I'd post a quick piece on just how callow it is to blog from the (dis)comfort of ones bed. I say discomfort because I had no idea just how difficult it would be to rest a laptop on yourself without getting the base of it anywhere near your genitals, while at the same time leaving the duvet completely smoothed over so that the creases don't compact and lovingly brutalise your thighs.

Saying this though, I do like it. It's not that I'm really left unrestricted by wires anymore, because I am. I'm not marvelling at the powers of wireless networking or anything quite so exciting, more marvelling at the idea of the no-wires. I think if I were presented with wireless home networking I may very well wet my pants. And no one wants that, especially with a laptop not-quite resting on my groin. I'd love to try and explain that one to the guys at the Derbyshire Royal Infirmary.

"...?" he would say.

"I, err... Erm...?" I would doubtlessly reply.

"Nevermind, let us not worry about the whys and wherefores, time is off the essence, for we do not have long to save your shrivelled manhood from certain death, and perhaps a certain sibilance to that of 'congealing'!"

And at this point my jaw would sag and my eyes would grow hollow and I would probably be likely to pass out. I don't especially want that to happen, and so I will verily refuse to have anything to do with wireless networking until the novelty of all of this has worn off. It's one thing to grow impotent through the extra heat placed on your testicles, but something entirely other to bring such pain on yourself through gadgetary based incontinence.

That was a very long, fuzzy and roundabout way of saying, "I've got a new laptop, and am thrilled," wasn't it?

The Results

Ok, I will preface this by saying, despite how troubled and vexed I sound, my future (for the time being) is secure, I seem to have exactly what I want from my results and things are absolutely fine. So no comisserations, thank yous!

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My day started at around nine when I was awoken by my mother, leapt sleepily, but no less hastily, from my bed and bolted for the shower. A brief, scalding shot of hot water, a dab of soap here and there (never forget behind your ears) and I was out again and dried without even considering stopping to stair vainly at myself in the mirror. An equally rushed breakfast, dressing session and round of hair styling and we were out of the house by about 10:30.

You may ask how all these very snappy things took an hour and a half to do, and, in response, I may tell you that I stopped between them and watched Commited which has newly returned to its rightful home on Paramount Comedy! Huzzah!

This aside, as we set off my dad slips his copy of Bond's self titled album into the CD player, adding a horrible, surreal sense of urgency to the whole thing which easily belittles the levity with which I worked earlier and my stomach clenches and contracts, working into it huge knots and spontaeniously generating butterflies as the drive nears its destination.

As I get out of the car and procede to the grades pick-up point I am bombarded by my friends, arms flung all over me, encircling and squeezing and groping and a whole miscellany of madness! I was somewhat worried for Fiona too, as she charged towards me. Her top being of such a low nature and her breasts being so bountiful in size I thought someone was going to be either heavily embaressed or lose an eye. Bless her.

I eventually beat my way through the crowd, grab my grades slips and am baffled and be-sorrowed by what lies within.

A B for physics module 5.
A C for physics module 6.
A B for physics overall.

I think to myself, "ohshitbuggerfuckshitbuggerarsewankcock!" (in that precise order) and try very hard (and succeed) to fight back tears. It's ok, I can ring my universities and everything will be dandy. Ok, just breathe. Lets look at what else you got.

A D (!) in R.S. module 4.
A D (!!) in R.S. module 5.
An A (?!?) in R.S. module 6.
A C in R.S. overall.

What. Thefuck. How can I get straight Ds in the two easier modules and a nice, fat, middle of the road A in the hardest module of the bunch?! GTFO OCR! GTFO. Not to mention it seems my hopes of getting into uni are going down the pan.

And on to maths.

An A ( =D) in pure core 3.
A... D (D=) in pure core 4.
A B in maths overall.

This I can accept. Pure 4 was a bitch; everyone hated it, including the teachers. The overall grade is acceptable too, as this is what my university asked for.

So, that's it, I can't get into either of my choices. Both asked for an ABB, with an A in physics. Oh dear God, I think I'm gonna hurl.

Commiserations from teachers and advice all 'round.

We rush home, I jump on the phone to York admissions to find it engaged. I keep redialling. I get through.

It turns out I had an unconditional offer at York anyway.

Jesus-fuckin'-Christ. All that worrying for nothing? I hate school life.

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But this has raised some important issues for me. As a result of getting into York without the grades I should have I ought to feel elated. I don't. I feel cheated and empty, and I don't like it. I appreciate the fact that I did work hard for these and I'm getting a break here, but it's a break I didn't deserve!

I won't deny that I'm a lucky guy. I have a wonderful family, I could want for next to nothing and I always get the break I need. For once, I don't want it. I wanted to be reprimanded for failing to reach the hurdles I was set, to know how it stings, to have the time to reconsider my life, maybe get a job and know what it's like to work really hard for what you get.

Everyone keeps shaking my hand. My parents gave me £50 for getting this far. My grandparents gave me £100. I feel like an asshole. For me an A is the only grade worth getting and anything less is failure. Yes, it's a high standard, but one I thought I could live upto. I just feel very uncomfortable about this whole thing. Infact, I feel ashamed. I don't think I've ever felt ashamed of myself before in my whole life. Yes, I've felt a bit of a cock, I've felt compassion for people I've hurt, but I've never felt shame for anything I've done until now.

I need a drink.

Pirates of the Caribbean *SPOILERS*

So, I've finally gone to see POTC 2: Dead Man's Chest, and not without my fair share of apprehension. After seeing the POTC dedicated Ask A Ninja episode, learning all about how everyone gets their own plotline, how everyone is a girl apart from Keira Nightly and various other pleasant defects. I realise now I should never, ever watch Ask A Ninja and take anything it says seriously (although I agree with the whole Keira Nightly thing, despite the whole seduction [good gravy, that was hot]).

The film as a whole was pretty good. The only bad part about it was (I think) the bit where Will was running up the beach, or where Jack was trying to sneakily snatch the key from Norrington during the sword fight. The running from Will was just so poncy it hurt and the key snatching was equally as wussy (the silhouette shot was especially crap). Otherwise, very nice.

One last gripe though: can pirates be emo? You all know who i'm talking about. Yea, that's right: Davey Jones.

He cuts his heart out, over a girl no less, locks it in a chest and then puts that in another chest and fills the remaing space with love letters, flowers and other rediculously romantic stuff. If that doesn't scream "emo!" like a pair of skinny jeans, a floppy, swooshing fringe, a lazy eye and a row of self abusive train-tracks then I do not know what does.

Fuckin' pirate emo fags.

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Disclaimer: I love emoes really! Infact, I am one a bit! Old school, I might add.

Baggy trousers and tight shirts all the way.

The Emily Returns

Let the fanfairs commence, let trumpets blair and tubas roar throughout the streets: Emily is back home. Sorry Dr., the other Emily. I'm sorry you didn't get one of these when you came back from holiday, but to be honest, this isn't really about Emily, I just couldn't think of a good title for this.

For a month now Emily has been "enjoying" all that Ecuador has to offer in terms of culture, sightseeing, expansive (biblical) mountain walks, blistering cold and chicken. We've already heard all (ok, a fair few) of the various horror stories of the treck that she went on with her school; the horror of going to build a playground for the underprivelleged Ecuadorian children to find that someone else had already built one for them, eating chicken and rice for nearly every meal, having to try and sleep in a sub-par sleeping bag above the cloudline, blistering heat throughout the day and so on and so on.

Admittedly, I will probably make fun of her forever more for going on this trip, having to earn a rediculous amount of money and then not quite enjoying it so very much when she got there, but I'm glad she's back and hope she never has to go away for so long ever, ever again.

On to other things. You'll notice I got my flicr widget all widgety, but I'm refraining from posting too much there, due to the file restrictions per month, and nothing much else has been happening.

I went to derby today to buy a Q.ball air blowing thing, as I was worried about my camera. There is crap all over the inside of the eyepiece and it distracts me so much I just had to do something. So I go in, buy it and all is well, I am satisfied. I wander around further, mostly clothes shops (as I went shopping with Gareth, Ben and Emily; Emily was apparently in desperate need of new attire so clothes shops were a must) and I bought myself a wonderful pair of brown corduroys which fit me like a dream and make me look as skinny as I've always longed to be. What happens? I show my sister what I look like in them and she calls me "emo". I don't resent this, I am emo. However, it was the link she made with "skinny jeans" that she made that really fucked me off. I have a pair of trousers that fit me and make me look slim and she thinks I'm a goddamned trend whore.

Bitch.

Also on returning home, I whip out the Q.ball and get to blowing. Everything's fine, APART FROM I SEE A BLOODY AWFUL BLACK BLOB ON ALL MY PICTURES.

I got very worried and thought I'd got something on the CCD, and y'know, a "charged couple device" has charge running through it, and thus attracts dust statically, so once it's on it's hard to get off. I get to blowing, but it turns out the CCD is as clear as a bell! I clean the front of the lens, the back, everywhere, take more pictures, can't see a thing! I tried a dust image too, to try and pinpoint it, but when I do that it disappears!

It turns out I have a dead pixel in the monitor itself.

Go figure.

The pitter patter of little electronic feet.

That is to say, there will be a new addition to my world renowned blog.

I've recently gotten myself a Flickr.com account, for the posting of photos and whatnot. Now, the good people at flickr have let me get myself an RSS feed of everything I post. I'm going to try and incorporate this feed into my blog.

If it doesn't work, then I am a looser. A looser who can't speel.

Send me comments of congratulations if I win though!