Woo Ha!
Hey Everyone,
I've been somewhere between busy and sick for the last two or three days. Headache, sore throat, cold etc mixed with running around banking cheques and stuff.
Ergo I've been lazy with my blogging. Which I shouldn't be, since the first lesson of putting content on the internet is the more regularly you do it, the more inclined people are to read it.
And my ego decrees that I want to be read.
No matter.
Picking up from last time: Life on Mars was actually pretty good. Not mind blowingly good, but a very strong start with occaisional hairs-on-the-back-of-the-neck moments. And it is good to see more and more SF coming onto TV again.
Seriously, anything that forms a protective dyke against the soul-raping tyranny of contrived 'reality television' with it's invariable attendant cast of morons is okay by me.
Speaking of which, George Galloway is in the current Celebrity Big Brother, which is stirring up all sorts of controversy. Not the least of which is that he is dodging an important vote on some issue or other to be in the house. Breaking the cardinal rule of Reality Television, he actually seems to be reasonable intelligent, although I am sure that some of his arguements don't hold water.
It's so hard to know who to trust in British politics. Tony Blair seems to be the British Paul Keating, whereas one bloke I do actually like, Boris Johnson, is a Tory Lickspittle who moved out of Islington to Notting Hill (!?) just so he could cosy up to the new Tory Leader.
I hate politics.
Something I'm proud of: Sunday night I put it on my To-Do list for Monday to go to the HSBC bank. Despite getting up pretty early Monday, I only made it there at five O'clock. Half an hour after they stop serving at the counters. The reason I missed the window was that I was on my way and I stopped to check my email. D'oh.
Tuesday I went again, this time walking past the net caff to the Tube Station (which, despite a ten minute walk, means I get to Stratford before the 257 Bus). Went to the Bank and sorted all the stuff I intended to.
I know it is pretty pathetic, but for me to have a list of stuff to do on a Monday, and to do it before the following Friday is pretty good.
After that I took the tube into London, stopped at a comic shop on Charing Cross road to buy some Comics by Grant Morrison, a mind twisting Scottish writer, and bought some CDs at Virgin. I also got myself some big fuck-off headphones. Possibly too big. Nevermind, they'll still be good for watching DVDs.
In between, I headed to Stratford Library, Monday, Tuesday and Today, since I had come home to find a note from the Library stating that they were holding The Third Preacher trade paperback for me. This was a bit surprising, since I ordered it about two months ago. (Of course, anyone who wanted a certain book on Taoism or another on working in retail would conceiveably have my face on a dartboard).
Anyways, I hit the Library on Monday, and they couldn't find the book.
Ditto Tuesday.
Today, having been waylaid by a whole lot of ironing, I got to the library just as the place was closing.
'We're closing now.' said a librarian/bouncer as I came in through the out door.
'That's okay,' I smiled. Subtext: I know that you're closing, but I'm not leaving until I'm good and satisfied. 'I believe you're holding a book for me.'
'Do you have the letter?'
'Yes. It's at home. I know the title,' My tone hardened just a little, just enough for him to notice, 'I have been waiting three days for it to come in.'
Sidle past him and up to the counter. They take my name and hand to me... a book about Star Trek. With my name on a book mark.
No wonder they couldn't find the right book Monday and Tuesday, they'd been sent the wrong book.
Nevermind. They re-sent the order, I thanked them and left. I've got plenty to read at the moment.
For one thing, I still have half of the huge American Splendor collection that I borrowed out yesterday. It is a curious read, as it seems to be determined to break all the guidelines for making good narrative (fiction or not) but it still seems to be compelling reading. I sat up reading it til three last night without even meaning to.
Of course it doesn't hurt that the art is generally pen and ink black and white heavily influenced by the alternative comix of the sixties. For some reason that particular style really turns my crank. Although I did also find a collection of old Slaine comics from 2000AD which were just horrific (for the most part, although as soon as another artist stepped in the quality leapfrogged).
If I had my own Badge Press (mental note, check Ebay) I would make one saying 'Am I Making Sense Yet?'
I think that's going to be my new mantra whenever I am writing, saying or doing something that even I know is not necessarily idicative of a sane human being.
Geez I'm pretentious sometimes.
Come to think of it, I could probably make a killing selling badges/T-shirts at Slimelight saying Blood is Not Just Breakfast to all the wannabe vampy-goths.
This is a sprawling post. Bouncing back and forth. Clarity, young man, Clarity.
Screw it, I'm going home to watch the season finale of Lost.
Over and out.
J
I've been somewhere between busy and sick for the last two or three days. Headache, sore throat, cold etc mixed with running around banking cheques and stuff.
Ergo I've been lazy with my blogging. Which I shouldn't be, since the first lesson of putting content on the internet is the more regularly you do it, the more inclined people are to read it.
And my ego decrees that I want to be read.
No matter.
Picking up from last time: Life on Mars was actually pretty good. Not mind blowingly good, but a very strong start with occaisional hairs-on-the-back-of-the-neck moments. And it is good to see more and more SF coming onto TV again.
Seriously, anything that forms a protective dyke against the soul-raping tyranny of contrived 'reality television' with it's invariable attendant cast of morons is okay by me.
Speaking of which, George Galloway is in the current Celebrity Big Brother, which is stirring up all sorts of controversy. Not the least of which is that he is dodging an important vote on some issue or other to be in the house. Breaking the cardinal rule of Reality Television, he actually seems to be reasonable intelligent, although I am sure that some of his arguements don't hold water.
It's so hard to know who to trust in British politics. Tony Blair seems to be the British Paul Keating, whereas one bloke I do actually like, Boris Johnson, is a Tory Lickspittle who moved out of Islington to Notting Hill (!?) just so he could cosy up to the new Tory Leader.
I hate politics.
Something I'm proud of: Sunday night I put it on my To-Do list for Monday to go to the HSBC bank. Despite getting up pretty early Monday, I only made it there at five O'clock. Half an hour after they stop serving at the counters. The reason I missed the window was that I was on my way and I stopped to check my email. D'oh.
Tuesday I went again, this time walking past the net caff to the Tube Station (which, despite a ten minute walk, means I get to Stratford before the 257 Bus). Went to the Bank and sorted all the stuff I intended to.
I know it is pretty pathetic, but for me to have a list of stuff to do on a Monday, and to do it before the following Friday is pretty good.
After that I took the tube into London, stopped at a comic shop on Charing Cross road to buy some Comics by Grant Morrison, a mind twisting Scottish writer, and bought some CDs at Virgin. I also got myself some big fuck-off headphones. Possibly too big. Nevermind, they'll still be good for watching DVDs.
In between, I headed to Stratford Library, Monday, Tuesday and Today, since I had come home to find a note from the Library stating that they were holding The Third Preacher trade paperback for me. This was a bit surprising, since I ordered it about two months ago. (Of course, anyone who wanted a certain book on Taoism or another on working in retail would conceiveably have my face on a dartboard).
Anyways, I hit the Library on Monday, and they couldn't find the book.
Ditto Tuesday.
Today, having been waylaid by a whole lot of ironing, I got to the library just as the place was closing.
'We're closing now.' said a librarian/bouncer as I came in through the out door.
'That's okay,' I smiled. Subtext: I know that you're closing, but I'm not leaving until I'm good and satisfied. 'I believe you're holding a book for me.'
'Do you have the letter?'
'Yes. It's at home. I know the title,' My tone hardened just a little, just enough for him to notice, 'I have been waiting three days for it to come in.'
Sidle past him and up to the counter. They take my name and hand to me... a book about Star Trek. With my name on a book mark.
No wonder they couldn't find the right book Monday and Tuesday, they'd been sent the wrong book.
Nevermind. They re-sent the order, I thanked them and left. I've got plenty to read at the moment.
For one thing, I still have half of the huge American Splendor collection that I borrowed out yesterday. It is a curious read, as it seems to be determined to break all the guidelines for making good narrative (fiction or not) but it still seems to be compelling reading. I sat up reading it til three last night without even meaning to.
Of course it doesn't hurt that the art is generally pen and ink black and white heavily influenced by the alternative comix of the sixties. For some reason that particular style really turns my crank. Although I did also find a collection of old Slaine comics from 2000AD which were just horrific (for the most part, although as soon as another artist stepped in the quality leapfrogged).
If I had my own Badge Press (mental note, check Ebay) I would make one saying 'Am I Making Sense Yet?'
I think that's going to be my new mantra whenever I am writing, saying or doing something that even I know is not necessarily idicative of a sane human being.
Geez I'm pretentious sometimes.
Come to think of it, I could probably make a killing selling badges/T-shirts at Slimelight saying Blood is Not Just Breakfast to all the wannabe vampy-goths.
This is a sprawling post. Bouncing back and forth. Clarity, young man, Clarity.
Screw it, I'm going home to watch the season finale of Lost.
Over and out.
J
posted by the.exile at 7:18 pm
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