Day #6: Listen to copious amounts of pop music*

If you don't want to read about Girls Aloud and Lady GaGa, I suggest that you stop reading now. 

Just the two of us, then...? Anyway. I was listening to my 'super pumped up jams' hiphop playlist and suddenly got the craving for something sugary (like you do sometimes) and popped some Girls Aloud on. Lifted my mood infinitely! Pop music is underrated. Yes, I realise the irony of what I just said. What I mean to say is, with those types. You know.

I used to be one of those types. When I was about sixteen, I thought I had the best taste in music in the world (Enter Shikari was my favourite band, and 'all pop music is shit, man', clearly I didn't). But there is a simple joy to pop music. Manufactured, yes. Overly peppy, perhaps. But terrible, a lot of the time, no! And pretentious? Definitely not. 

Pop music is a common, uniting factor, whether it inspires deep hate in hipsters or whether it pulls total strangers together on a sweaty dancefloor at any given point during a night. I am not suggesting that I live on a diet of sugary goodness, that's bad for anyone, but as part of a balanced diet, including large chunks of math rock and other such delights, can bring the right amount of happiness into many peoples lives.

Rihanna, Lady GaGa, The Saturdays? They may not be groundbreaking but sometimes that is not necessary. I have an entire playlist dedicated to this decade's cheese, and 90s pop delights. I am not ashamed.

*You may have lost some respect for this blog. Shame on you.

Day #5: Sandwiches

It is ten to eleven at night and I still haven't written a post today. Largely because I am recovering from a bout of drinking and am in a pit of shame. I may have drank too much and may have made a bit of an idiot out of myself. However, I am hoping to distract myself from that thought by writing about sandwiches and listen to Born Ruffians.

Sandwiches (or a McDonalds) are the perfect hangover cure. Sausage sandwiches, ham salad sandwiches, peanut butter and jam sandwiches, a well-made sandwich just takes the edge off that feeling of both sickness and intense head pain.

It's safe to say that I have a little bit of a sandwich obsession. Especially ham ones, with a bit of sweet chilli sauce, or some mustard, or my current love, which is beetroot, ready salted crisps, mayo and ham. Which sounds absolutely disgusting, but all I'm saying is, don't knock it until you have tried it. Unless you don't like beetroot, in which case you probably won't. I think my mother has finally got the hint that I quite like ham, because she bought seven different packets of cooked meat this weekend (That's not really normal for a four-person household, is it?). Aldi do really great ham, who'da thought it? Currently I am favouring the Italian and German cuts. The French are... average.

My sandwich making is a great source of mirth to my family, as I am extremely slow at making one, meticulously arranging the slices of cucumber and tomato and ensuring an even mustard or mayonnaise covering. They may laugh, but at least I know that my sandwich is perfect. My life-long quest: to find the perfect sandwich. A paltry ambition, some may say, but one of many weird ambitions of mine: it's the small pleasures.

Day #4: Watch Friday Night Dinner all the way through?

I couldn't sleep last night, and surfing the 'comedy' pages of 4od, I came across 'Friday Night Dinner'.  I had watched it the first week and found it terrible. In the interest of fairness, however, I decided to give it a second watch. Sitcom about a Jewish couple whose two sons come around for dinner on a Friday night. Funny potential, right?

Sadly, I only got half-way through the episode, as I still could not fathom why Channel 4 had given it top billing on a Friday night. Having seen the adverts and Tamsin Greig's last project (Episodes, reviewed here, which wasn't bad plot-wise, but not that funny), I wasn't that excited about this programme. Still, I duly watched the second episode and if anything, my opinion went down even further.

I very much enjoy The Royle Family, Black Books and similar sitcoms that concentrate not on the plot but (I will use this word only for ease of speech) 'banter', jokes and characters as they are strong enough humour-wise. This appears to be what creator Popper is doing: however, the jokes fall flat and the character 'quirks' appear forced. There also appears to be a running 'salt-in-each-other's-water' gag. Which is not funny.

Greig portrays the mother well, but doesn't seem to have much of an opportunity to be funny. The father is tedious, the brother played by Simon Bird IS basically Will from The Inbetweeners and the other brother looks curiously like Simon from The Inbetweeners, I can't really remember much else. Oh, and Mark Heap is the cursory 'annoying neighbour.' Like, er, in Spaced. 

Overall, I remain unimpressed. And failed this task. Oh well, I think my creative horizons will survive. Just...

Day #3: Expanding my lungs

Today I decided to go for a walk around Glyn Ceriog, which is a beautiful rural area nearish where I live. The aim of today is to feel the wind on my face, to expand my lungs, to see nature. It being a fair distance away, was a perfect opportunity for driving practice. However, I did shred both my mother's nerves when driving on the edge of very narrow (well, quite) roads with very steep drops (my brother seemed to find the whole incident extremely amusing). But I am alive, and that is the most important fact (except my hands still have a slightly claw-like quality as if they are still gripping the steering wheel for dear life).

Anyway, we decided to go up a massive hill (which, I might add, was one of those never-ending ones with 'false crests' - we got to the 'top' no less than four times. I may have been several hundred feet behind my Army Captain brother, but the important thing is not that I finished, not when I finished, right!? My only saving grace is that there were no other keen walkers around to see my red face and ungainly stagger on ascent of the hill. 

I took a few photos on my crappy phone camera, the far above being my mother's truly amazing walking outfit (on her head is a big woollen headband on which is a flower, if you were wondering), replete with massive socks tucked into her walking boots. And just above, well, that's a tree.

This blog post is courtesy of several lemon and ginger teas and this song:

Day #2: 4 photos of the mundane

Basically, I forgot about this challenge today until quite late on, so I took some photos (that's creative, right?). This post, for want of any other ideas, is about the supposed mundane. It can be beautiful. for instance, paint on a road. I once saw a whole book full of them. It was incredible (mostly the fact that someone actually published a book composed entirely of cracked yellow paint and old tarmac). Anyway, the moral of this story is that you can make something of nothing. A shitty old garden, egg and beans on toast and more shitty shots of my garden.

It does not bode well that I have already nearly lapsed on day two of this experiment. Never mind, 38 more days...

And so concludes the list of mundaneness (I prefer mundanity, but apparently it is not a word).

Day #1: Watch The Human Centipede

Yes, I am aware that most of the human population that wants to see/review this has, but it was on SYFY channel the other night... I wasn't actually going to watch it but the allure of a three-person-long digestive system... was too much.

Basic plot:

Surgeon expert in separating siamese twins becomes obsessed with the idea of conjoining several people (mouth to anus) and succeeds, trains them like pets, police become suspicious, everyone but the middle part of the centipede somehow end up dead.

Review:

I can honestly say that I have never spent so much of a film with my hand over my mouth in horror. Having made that casual statement, however, it wasn't as disgusting as I'd (expected? hoped to satisfy my grim fascination?) and as the film progressed, found myself becoming desensitized to the grotesque scenes of a Japanese tourist defecating through an American woman's mouth. However, the relentless whimpering of the two American women (the back two bits of the centipede), I did not. 

The soundtrack (usual ominous score for a horror film) was barely audible due to their constant, muffled shrieks. This was probably the reason I was on edge for the entire film. The language barriers were a constant theme of the film, really. The scientist being German, the front end of the centipede being Japanese and the two girls unable to speak as they were literally eating his shit meant that there was very little common ground, the exception being torture. 

The gore was not so bad - it was more the power of suggestion that would really make the viewers heave. The bout of almost simultaneous deaths at the end was really rather spectacular: the image of the two policemen floating in the basement swimming pool, bleeding; the last, stunned look of the scientist imprinted onto his face as he sits against the wall with a hole in his head; the look of terror and revulsion on the surviving part of the centipede: the middle girl, unable to speak or move.

Now to wait for the second part in grim anticipation.

Lent: Expand Creative Horizons Challenge

This Lent, I am not giving up something, but taking something on: to expand my creative horizons by doing, watching or reading something new every day in Lent.

All suggestions welcome.

A three-day hangover... REALLY!?

I write this from a pit of self-pity (not a literal pit, but a pathetic metaphorical one) and to make things worse, my 'e' key is broken and I have eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwdddddd (that was me fixing it). I still don't know what was behind it.

Anyway, went out on Saturday and got moderately drunk (that's right, moderatly) and on the third day, I am still a snivelling throaty wreck. Twenty three, I am. Acting young, I ain't.

Surely this is the behaviour of a much older person. I couldn't be a student any more. A diet of 9p noodles (Morrisons), shit wine (anything under £4.50) and going out five times a week? The concept of breakfast being a pint and a packet of nuts, laundry only considered when one is down to swimwear for underwear? My idea of a nightmare. Life can only get less boring, surely...

My only hope for a friend with the same interests is this alpaca. And he doesn't even like me much.

Custard

When I have a spare hour or two, I tend to wander into Costa Coffee and write. The average ramble will be two pages long and consist mainly of clutching at straws for inspiration, usually my surroundings (largely the same as I always go to Costa and it is always empty).

However, this time I decided to break with tradition and go to Caffe Milano down the road and have a coffee and a pastry. The coffee was... ok, but the pastry was sublime: a custard danish. I cannot eat much of sweet stuff but I could easily develop a custard obsession. Just sweet enough, yellow, creamy and inviting... I could drink it straight out of the carton. I would slather it on my chips (it would probably be less repulsive than it sounds, have you ever HAD chips and ice cream?) I could write reams about it.

Actually, I can't. But here are some pictures of custard and custard-related articles.

Attempt at a post about London Fashion Week

Maybe I should comment on what is happening at the moment more, instead of this blog being completely self-contained, and thus I should really write a post about LFW, which was last week (well, I have to start somewhere).

And so I sat at my computer and thought about what I could write about. Then I realised what I know about fashion I could write on my smallest fingernail (which is easily discernible by looking at my daily attire). Unfortunate. Note to self: read stuff about LFW. And er, fashion.

//Update//

(After reading this week's Look) Nicola Roberts has really come into her own, hasn't she? Perhaps even the most stylish and individual member of Girls Aloud (are they still together? I don't think they are) beautiful coiffed, softer-toned hair and a many classic outfits with a quirky twist.

And she's ginger. Which is fine by me.

On another musical note, I found a delightful band on my ipod the other day: Dog Is Dead, reminiscent of Mystery Jets and other delightful bands who focus on harmonies and pleasant sounds.

I'm in the mood for dancing...

There is nothing funnier than to watch people dancing in public. I imagine it is equally, if not more, funny to watch me dancing in public, but that's another story (I'd rather not imagine that, far too embarrassing). There are several different tribes, of course, and several different stages of inebriation in ratio do dancing. For instance, some people will dance like fools no matter what; and others' dancing style will deteriorate significantly with each drink sipped / downed. Which is the lesser of two evils, however? To be observed, madly flailing and looking like you are having the time of your life, or controlled, non-ironic robotics?

Dubstep is possibly the funniest style of music to witness dancing to. The scene: in a club, centre dance floor. The music: something by... skream?! A familiar cheer goes up, and backsides are stuck out, hands are contorted and flung out, bodies are crouched and heads are bowed... Something like this, but a little less blurry:

Not that I am completely adverse to all dubstep. I am not even a complete 'hater', it just looks... well, really stupid, yet entirely self-conscious. Oh, and the best bit is if you witness this in a club, when the dancers form a complete circle, kind of like moshing, but with more arms and less heads.

Personally, I favour 'ironic dancing' (the upshot is much the same, but I claim that I look like a twat on purpose).

My ideal man?

I didn't know whether to write about my perfect man, or the perfect man - so this is an amalgamation of the two, really. I did some research (well, sort of, I asked facebook) and it would transpire that face (I assume that means that they are attractive, and not that the specification is to have a face - I would hope that they all have faces) and humour are the top-ranking qualities in a man. Alongside some other answers such as 'gullibility' (from a straight man) and 'big arms'. However, here is my list:

1. Style. So that rules out silver neck chains, trouser crotches around knees and sportswear in public for me.

2. Romance. It only needs to be a bit. No, they don't need to fill a room with red roses in order to prove their undying love, but a small gesture every now and then, just to show they listen?!

3. Distance (keeping the right amount, that is). Not too clingy (If I don't text back within 10 minutes, sending another one isn't going to make me reply quicker), and not too distant (no woman is an island!!) 

4. Punctuality If anything, the girl should be late (feminism? What's that?!)

5. Good music taste. Not essential, but it'd be nice (and would obviously match me in cool stakes, which would be sky-high*).

*This may not be true.

6. A good/weird sense of humour. It is essential that he can make me laugh, and laugh at the same things I do. Even if it involves laughing at him. 

7. Preferably not own a games console. Or at least don't play with it when I'm around. I'm a real girl!! Play with me (scrabble, preferably)!

8. A bit weird?! Just a bit.

9. Has hair. Longish, preferably.

10. Likes me. Ok, so I'm scraping the barrel a bit now, I think it's time to stop...

///EDIT///

Just in case this was unclear, it is just a bit of fun...

On repeat in my head whilst writing. 

Uninspired

This is the pits.

Is this what writer's block feels like? I feel like there is a big, fuzzy blob or cloud in my head (right behind my  left eyebrow, to be specific), and it is prohibiting me from thinking or doing anything productive. And caused me to write the last post...

Well, the environment is not overly inspiring, for a start. I keep meaning to listen to some BSM bands but this largely similar cover of 'Got to Have your Love' by Liberty X is having a snake-charmer effect on me and I am swaying from side to side, with a largely self-pitying look on my face, thinking about the consequences of staying in this room forever and becoming a fully-fledged hermit. Of course, there would be many obstacles to overcome, such as the perpetual presence of my parents, the lack of lock on this door and the fact that I might get quite hungry for the rest of my life...

That's better. Switched to Hold Your Horse Is' similar artists on last.fm, and already, I am starting to feel more alive... Blakfish came on (one of the best performances I have ever seen from a band, which is previously blogged about here) and I knew that my inspiration was on its way back. Ish. Now I must cling onto this thought long enough to muster up the energy to wash the dishes (inspiration, thy name is fairy liquid).

I would never be friends with old me.

I just googled my name, for shits and giggles... (I don't know what I was expecting to find, really). I was such a loser teenager! All of my social networking profiles came up (should probably do something about that, privacy and that), including bebo, hi5, myspace...

Apparently I uploaded a picture of a pirate flag, with the caption 'ooh arr har har me hearties pirates rock'... I mean, come on! (I may have been sixteen but I really was incredibly uncool. My bebo page, in 'about me', I simply wrote 'I don't like you.' Who writes shit like that?! Did I want to scare people away with a pseudo-pretentious four-word sentence that I can only assume was funny to me at the time!? And the pictures... Terrible. I looked like an emo boy.

I did (guiltily) enjoy it though. An (embarrassing) trip down memory lane, which made me appreciate just how much I have changed ( I no longer look and dress like an emo boy and do not love pirates).

Still not quite cool though...

Help She Can't Swim - Fermez La Bouche

My sixth form days. Ah, nostalgia.

Ranting (a not-very-comprehensive guide)

Dear readers (whoever you are, I would love to know who you are),

I just wrote two paragraphs about all the volunteer work I'm doing/will be doing but then I remembered that I'm trying to secure new readers and not bore them to death. No, that will come later.

So I sat looking at things that other people had wrote (better than me) , and then put some music on shuffle (a mixed bag), looked out of the window (dull) and finally consulted my trusty coffee shop notebook and came across a piece I wrote on how to rant. Am I really qualified to write on this? No. Will I anyway? Yes, because I haven't any better ideas. I'll keep it short: there are three main things.

Firstly, and most importantly, it is most important to get your point across coherently. If you are too angry to write in proper sentences using correct grammar and punctuation, it will lose impact and be taken less seriously.  Passion is important, but conveying the point to others is too.

Secondly, tone is very important. It can be difficult to perfect (have I perfected mine? Probably not. Do I overuse parentheses? Definitely). The writer may be knowledgeable on the subject, and have many valid points of view, but comes across as a complete twat as he or she comes across as either condescending  or pretentious. Or both. 

Finally, it is important to determine the audience you are writing for, and which one to write for, which admittedly is difficult, as there is a) perceived audience, b) target audience, and c) actual audience to consider. For example, this blog. Hopefully I have readers. I can only hope that I don't sound like a twat (and take my own advice).

On shuffle: Badly Drawn Boy, Grandmaster Flash, The Runaways, Mclusky and Les Savy Fav

Top #10 Facebook crimes

Well, there are more than that, but let's face it: both you, the reader, and I, the ranter, will get bored after ten. Please feel free to add more.

1. Overly soppy couples. There is an inbox feature for a reason.

2. ENDLESS photo albums. No-one wants to see 100 pictures of you and your mates being 'random'.

3. Private joke statuses that no-one else will find remotely funny/interesting. No-one else understands, why are you posting it for everyone to see? So they can see that you actually have friends, or...?

4. Relentless self-promotion. Once in a while, when you are trying to get established, ok... All the time? I stopped bothering to even click the link after the fourth time that day.

5. Those really annoying fan pages. You know the ones. Not funny, usually misspelt and full of 'I thought I was only one to think that way!!!!! Omg!!!!111111' You can't become a fan of a shit phrase. You are supposed to be a fan of a band, or an artist etc. Not 'I love my bed!' or that classic, 'Randomly laughing because you remembered something funny' (5,114,329 people like this).

6. Almost hourly life updates. Again, no-one cares if you are asleep (surely impossible if you are writing this), sooo stoked for dinner or 'at spoons wiv my girlies,  emma jones && @sally smith'.

7.  People with babies. Well, the ones who post about their every action. Well done for procreating, I don't need to know every time it has a shit.*

* This may be a slight exaggeration.

8. Places. John Smith is at Tesco. Erm, great?

9. Spam. How exciting!! A private message! Who could it be?!? Oh, it's that group that I don't really want to leave, but send me about 5 messages a day. 

10. Poking. Want to get in contact but are too lazy to think of anything to actually say to your friend? Then, the poke is just the action for you. 

**Disclaimer: I ain't saying I'm a saint all the time...

Valentines Day

Unlike the rest of the single population, I don't hate Valentine's day. I am indifferent to it, mostly. Also, it's a day to laugh at other couples publicly declaring that they cannot live without their smoochy-coos (hilarious)! But srsly, I think it's nice that there's a day that's special for them (that makes "them" sound like another species, doesn't it). Everyone likes to feel special. And before you interrupt with something about hallmark and "corporate bullshit", well, card companies will try and make money out of every occasion. Stop being so sceptical and let them enjoy their day. Or sit at home with your parents and watch The Notebook and rant about how "Valentine's Day is such a sellout, man, the joke's on them", whilst simultaneously wondering why no-one's asked you to be their Valentine.

I suppose what I am trying to say is, my problem is not with the day itself, but with the childish way in which it is recieved, on both sides: on one hand are the haters. On the other, the giving of teddies (great, another sentimental item that can fall down the side of my bed to gather dust and resentment) and overly sentimental posts on social networking sites (funny for a while, but why would you want to lose all sense of individuality and make people feel sick and want to hit you at the same time?) 

So couples, I implore you to celebrate the day not with lavish gestures, swathes of flowers and dust-magnets, but to simply appreciate each other. And singles, not to be bitter or self-pitying (ok, you can pity them if you really want to pity someone). After all, it is just another day.

The Young Creatives

They featured me!!! 

Stay tuned for a special Valentine's Day post.

http://theyoungcreatives.wordpress.com/

Festivals and stuff.

I have just been informed that I have been successful in getting my blog featured in theyoungcreatives blog, and it's not there yet, but it will be... soon...

So, despite the fact that I am completely broke and owing... a (reasonable) sum to my credit card company, the offer of another festival was too good to miss, so when my mate rang me and asked if I wanted to go to 2000 Trees Festival, the sway was too much to resist, and when the offer of discounted tickets for another festival (Y Not Festival was thrown in, well, it would have been rude to say no. With the line up of 2000 Trees featuring Los Campesinos, And so I Watch you from Afar (of previous blog fame) and Tall Ships (Read an article about them here), I knew that I had to go.

The two festivals, coupled with Glastonbury (finally) will ensure that I will have absolutely no money all summer, but it'll be an awesome three weekends...

The only drawback is, (see post below about how to stand at gigs) how will I get through three whole weekends of stumbling across minefields: standing by my tent, at casual gigs, morning and evening gigs, by the facepainting tent (not that I'll be there)?! I joke, I'll be sitting on a tartan blanket drinking tea out of a vacuum flask.

How to stand at a gig #1

Another week, I am ill (again) and another pleasant university visit (which merely makes me tired and wish I was at home eating raw vegetables. Nonetheless, I had a lovely time). 

So, music. As I get older (and poorer) I go to fewer gigs, which continues to sadden me as I appear to be making less and less effort to seek out new bands, relying on friends and sometimes, when I'm daring, 'similar artists' on Spotify or last.fm. (my profile is here if you're interested). So I'm going to see Les Savy Fav in a few weeks, about which I am rather excited. And so it goes (sneaky Vonnegut reference in there), the constant dilemma at gigs of what to do (my current favourite is to stand at the back and look like I would rather be anywhere else).

But when I was, you know, seventeen, eighteen, I used to love nothing more than to jump around, sing along, hug my friends and generally look like a prat. And now, no more. Am I too self-conscious? Am I scared of getting battered by some kid doing the windmill? (Don't even get me started on moshpits) A gig I went to last year (Danananakroyd) (Is that enough nanas?) had not a wall of death, but a wall of hugs, which was really lovely, and still I could not bring myself to join in. It may have had something more to do with what I can only describe as an overgrown schoolboy leaping about in front of me acting like, well an overgrown schoolboy with ADD. Still, with the large number of dancers, I feel I should have made the effort for those lovely Scottish lads. Drinking has largely lessened my inhibitions in the past, but shouldn't I be proud, and want to dance sober? Show my love and appreciation for all of the truly amazing bands I have seen, and will see?

I can only conclude, as from previous posts, that I have got boring and/or must pretend not to care about anything. 

Or maybe I'll have a few pints before.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Les Savy Fav - The Sweat Descends
Dananananakroyd - Infinity Milk

////EDIT/////
I forgot to mention couples at gigs (As pointed out to me by a mate)! In no way acceptable are: prolonged amounts of hugging, kissing or being more interested in each other than the music. No-one wants to vomit before the decent time of 3am after ten pints and a dodgy kebab.