Strange case of the missing Gap bag
Life I've bought a new bag. Case. Whatever. With my folder and all the books and bottles of water, my back pack's been getting progressively heavier and been giving me serious back ache to the extent I've found it difficult to sit down. I've seen Phd students throughout the university using small luggage cases on wheels and I decided that this couldn't just be a status thing and that other people should be able to do this too and so here I am now with a long handle and plenty of space to put things. True my feeling of displacement has increased because now I've pulling a case through the railway station every night, so I'm forever feeling like I've been on a long journey but the pains have all but gone and I actually don't feel as tired. My Gap bag will still get an aring. I can hardly take a case when I'm just out and about.
"This might sound to you a bit odd." -- Shakira (Underneath Your Clothes)
Music "But this goes beyond what I had hoped, because it is unhinged in some kind of fundamental way. It is not an avant-garde record by any means, but there is something extremely avant about Shakira's voice. This strange instrument, made up of equal parts Cher and Alanis and Nancy Sinatra, is always veering offtrack and back on, bursting into weird filigrees at odd moments because she just can't stop the emotions flooding her gypsy soul. Or maybe it's just because she's insane. Either way, it's thrilling and gives even the softer stuff here, like "The Day and the Time", an edge that most pop singers can rarely achieve." -- Matt Chiluba of Pop Matters review Shakira's new Oral Fixation, Vol. 2. I'm very excited. I especially like the cover which pleasingly bonkers and reminds me of the photographs which used to turn up on the old Top of the Pops compilations, with added symbolism. See also Matt's review of Laundry Service.
Introducing: My "fake girlfriend"!
Meteorology "I totally adore her, and my wife Elisa tolerates and even encourages it in little silly ways." -- Dave Ward talks about his (now not so secret) passion on flickr.
No. 80 Bus
Photography
No. 80 Bus
Originally uploaded by qwertyuiop.
Someone's taken this surreptitious shot of the bus I sometimes get home from the station. I wonder what the man on the far right is thinking about
No. 80 Bus
Originally uploaded by qwertyuiop.
Someone's taken this surreptitious shot of the bus I sometimes get home from the station. I wonder what the man on the far right is thinking about
Oh my god! It's so annoying!
Music "Oh my god! It's so annoying! Mutya's baby [Mutya Buena from the Sugababes] loves it, mind you. She laughs her head off at it. Look! I'll show you a picture! [Keisha shows OMM a photograph on her mobile phone of Mutya's baby laughing.] But I think to myself, who bought it, the Crazy Frog? Like really, though. Who thought, 'That's a wicked tune!'. Like, what's half the population on?" -- Keisha Buchanan features in one of the best music reviews of the year I've read, from The Observer. Parts of it just hilarious and bless her, Keisha displays a wit I've never seen before. Sudden nostalgia for the days when The Sugababes had soul.
Review 2005
Alan Sharp
It had begun almost a year before. That's when I had had the idea, and when I had known I could do it. I had tried before, many times, so many times. I had started, but the idea had been half-formed, and before too long I had run out of steam, and faltered, and given up.
But this time I knew it would be different. Because this time the idea was fully formed. I could see it, in my mind's eye. I knew exactly what I had to do. I knew exactly how to do it. It was achievable, attainable, and it would satisfy an ambition which had festered within me for as long as I could remember.
I won't pretend it was easy. It was hard work. It required commitment. At some point I realised it was not something I could do part time. I had to quit my job, throw myself into it totally, immerse myself in it, and trust that when I came out the other end I would be able to find work again to keep body and soul together. But I knew it would be worth the effort, worth the risk.
Fast forward to this year. It is the end of January. I receive a phone call, at the office, in a whole other city at the company I started working for six months earlier. It has arrived. I leave the office, head home, and there is the van, offloading boxes in the street.
I sign my name on the form attached to the clipboard. I carry the boxes up three flights of stairs and into the door of my flat. I put them down in the living room and, pulling the first box towards me, I break the masking tape urgently, hurriedly, impatient now to see the fruits of all my labours. I pull the box open, almost tearing it apart. And I lift the first one out, hold it in my hand, gaze upon it in wonder. I can't believe what I am looking at. I can't believe that at long last, after all these years, it finally exists.
288 pages. With my name on the front cover.
Alan Sharp writes Random Burblings
For an introduction and list of contributors to Review 2005, follow this link.
But this time I knew it would be different. Because this time the idea was fully formed. I could see it, in my mind's eye. I knew exactly what I had to do. I knew exactly how to do it. It was achievable, attainable, and it would satisfy an ambition which had festered within me for as long as I could remember.
I won't pretend it was easy. It was hard work. It required commitment. At some point I realised it was not something I could do part time. I had to quit my job, throw myself into it totally, immerse myself in it, and trust that when I came out the other end I would be able to find work again to keep body and soul together. But I knew it would be worth the effort, worth the risk.
Fast forward to this year. It is the end of January. I receive a phone call, at the office, in a whole other city at the company I started working for six months earlier. It has arrived. I leave the office, head home, and there is the van, offloading boxes in the street.
I sign my name on the form attached to the clipboard. I carry the boxes up three flights of stairs and into the door of my flat. I put them down in the living room and, pulling the first box towards me, I break the masking tape urgently, hurriedly, impatient now to see the fruits of all my labours. I pull the box open, almost tearing it apart. And I lift the first one out, hold it in my hand, gaze upon it in wonder. I can't believe what I am looking at. I can't believe that at long last, after all these years, it finally exists.
288 pages. With my name on the front cover.
Alan Sharp writes Random Burblings
For an introduction and list of contributors to Review 2005, follow this link.
Could it be I'm? No.
Life I picked up this postcard when I was an undergraduate at an art gallery. Every now and then it becomes relevant. Saying nothing about its relevancy now ...
Christmas and crushes
Life This weekend is Christmas preparation time, with the tree and decorations installed, the lights up in the hallways and the cake in the oven. I don't think I have any more presents to buy, although I'm sure once I've started wrapping I'll think of something else I should have included. Its certainly been more difficult this year and I think it's because time seems to be contracting as I get older. There was one item I thought I'd bought for someone this year and then I realised I'd actually given it to them as a gift last time (which would why I couldn't find it in the bag with all the rest), it just doesn't seem so long ago.
Sorry I've been letting other people words speak for me these past few days and weeks, but the studying crunch is happening and I'm slightly overwhelmed. Again today I've been finishing a presentation for the final seminar of the year on Monday (on Tarkovsky and Douglas Adams and their use of sound) and trying to chip away at an essay. It's all very well having big ideas, but then being held back by your own mediocrity in the application. I'm enjoying myself though which is really the main thing.
Sorry I've been letting other people words speak for me these past few days and weeks, but the studying crunch is happening and I'm slightly overwhelmed. Again today I've been finishing a presentation for the final seminar of the year on Monday (on Tarkovsky and Douglas Adams and their use of sound) and trying to chip away at an essay. It's all very well having big ideas, but then being held back by your own mediocrity in the application. I'm enjoying myself though which is really the main thing.
Let me sing you a waltz...
Film "I did a big Hollywood action film, American Werewolf in Paris, and it was a total failure. It didn't make money. The film was not very good. That's when I decided not to do movies unless I fully believe in them. It doesn't matter if it's a big movie or a smaller movie, there must be something about it that I believe in. That's all. But it's not easy. My agent dumped me when I was writing Before Sunset, because he thought I was wasting my time." -- Julie Delpy on the trials of Hollywood. I liked American Werewolf in Paris, the bungie jump at the beginning especially. [via]
Review 2005
Mimi Leigh
Ahhh, 2005. Two thousand and five. The sum of its parts is seven. 7, a lucky number, no? Seven dwarfs, Seven Sacraments, The Seventh Sign. Seven opportunities a week to not want to get out of bed.
What's that stress list? You know, the one that rates levels of stress associated with life changes? Well, I think my score is actually right at 2005. But it's not all bad.
I actually DO want to get out of bed now. This year took me away from my shoebox cubicle where I sold gourmet cookies by phone, but REALLY updated my blog and refreshed Gawker 6 times an hour. I woke from a blog/cookie induced stupor one day and decided that I really could be doing something better with my life that didn't involve chocolate chips or the latest news on Vincent Gallo. My deus ex machina---the classroom.
Yes, I started teaching 7th grade Language Arts just a few months ago. And I set my wedding date the same day that I accepted the job. Perhaps I actually had a death wish.
85 little 13-14 year olds keep me crazy every single day. And I love it. I always wanted to teach high school, but I feel relieved that I didn't get my wish. These little hellions are everything I never thought they would be. They're funnier, they're MUCH more mature (they have sex!!! gag), they're much smaller in stature that I expected, they're completely and unforgivingly unmotivated, they're hip, they're tragically unhip, they curse, some smoke, some drink, some have marijuana tattoos on their forearm and used to be in a gang, some are gay and haven't admitted it yet, some have to pee every day at exactly 9:26, some give me their food that they don't want every day at lunch, some have had open heart surgery and others have had brain tumors. All in all, even with their faults, they're a colossal joy. I find it hard to get angry with most of them. Example:
Today I was sitting on my stool in front of the class a few minutes before dismissal. Students were gathered around me, competing for my attention as usual, when I suddenly felt something funny on my bottom. Charles (names have been changed to protect the innocent) was idly drawing on my ASS with a big pink piece of chalk. ON MY ASS.
I said "Charles dear, I know it's such a temptingly large canvas, but please refrain from touching my bottom with that pink extension of your finger."
He is apparently so comfortable with me that he just giggled. I went to wipe off the pink evidence and he preemptively took his little hand and RUBBED MY BUTT, yes RUBBED MY BUTT to erase his designs. I should have gone crazy on him, but it was only then that he realized that anything he was doing was inappropriate and he then looked a bit sheepish and apologized.
These are my days, and it sure beats selling cookies.
Mimi Leigh writes 72hrchikdom
For an introduction and list of contributors to Review 2005, follow this link.
What's that stress list? You know, the one that rates levels of stress associated with life changes? Well, I think my score is actually right at 2005. But it's not all bad.
I actually DO want to get out of bed now. This year took me away from my shoebox cubicle where I sold gourmet cookies by phone, but REALLY updated my blog and refreshed Gawker 6 times an hour. I woke from a blog/cookie induced stupor one day and decided that I really could be doing something better with my life that didn't involve chocolate chips or the latest news on Vincent Gallo. My deus ex machina---the classroom.
Yes, I started teaching 7th grade Language Arts just a few months ago. And I set my wedding date the same day that I accepted the job. Perhaps I actually had a death wish.
85 little 13-14 year olds keep me crazy every single day. And I love it. I always wanted to teach high school, but I feel relieved that I didn't get my wish. These little hellions are everything I never thought they would be. They're funnier, they're MUCH more mature (they have sex!!! gag), they're much smaller in stature that I expected, they're completely and unforgivingly unmotivated, they're hip, they're tragically unhip, they curse, some smoke, some drink, some have marijuana tattoos on their forearm and used to be in a gang, some are gay and haven't admitted it yet, some have to pee every day at exactly 9:26, some give me their food that they don't want every day at lunch, some have had open heart surgery and others have had brain tumors. All in all, even with their faults, they're a colossal joy. I find it hard to get angry with most of them. Example:
Today I was sitting on my stool in front of the class a few minutes before dismissal. Students were gathered around me, competing for my attention as usual, when I suddenly felt something funny on my bottom. Charles (names have been changed to protect the innocent) was idly drawing on my ASS with a big pink piece of chalk. ON MY ASS.
I said "Charles dear, I know it's such a temptingly large canvas, but please refrain from touching my bottom with that pink extension of your finger."
He is apparently so comfortable with me that he just giggled. I went to wipe off the pink evidence and he preemptively took his little hand and RUBBED MY BUTT, yes RUBBED MY BUTT to erase his designs. I should have gone crazy on him, but it was only then that he realized that anything he was doing was inappropriate and he then looked a bit sheepish and apologized.
These are my days, and it sure beats selling cookies.
Mimi Leigh writes 72hrchikdom
For an introduction and list of contributors to Review 2005, follow this link.
Links for 2005-12-16 [del.icio.us]
Dave's Long Box: Comic Book Fashion Disaster, Pt 1.
"We?ll start with the ladies first time out. One of the hazards of being a female comic book hero is that men draw what you wear. Correction: nerdy men draw what you wear."
RandomProxy!
Talk some another random user of AOL Instant Messenger (AIM). Could be hilarious....
MAN DATES GAL ON INTERNET FOR SIX MONTHS -- AND IT TURNS OUT SHE'S HIS MOTHER!
As Tom Lehrer wrote: "There once lived a man named Oedipus Rex, / You may have heard about his odd complex. / His name appears in Freud's index / 'Cause he loved his mother...."
Doctor Who: The Christmas Invasion review @ SFX
A bit spoilery although I love this bit: "With Tennant?s casting, Eccleston seems even more of an aberration, the furrow-browed Timothy Dalton of Doctor Who, and it?s easier now to believe in a direct lineage with Troughton, Baker or Davison."
Serenity DVD Packaging Confirmation in Australia ...
I hope we get this in the UK
"We?ll start with the ladies first time out. One of the hazards of being a female comic book hero is that men draw what you wear. Correction: nerdy men draw what you wear."
RandomProxy!
Talk some another random user of AOL Instant Messenger (AIM). Could be hilarious....
MAN DATES GAL ON INTERNET FOR SIX MONTHS -- AND IT TURNS OUT SHE'S HIS MOTHER!
As Tom Lehrer wrote: "There once lived a man named Oedipus Rex, / You may have heard about his odd complex. / His name appears in Freud's index / 'Cause he loved his mother...."
Doctor Who: The Christmas Invasion review @ SFX
A bit spoilery although I love this bit: "With Tennant?s casting, Eccleston seems even more of an aberration, the furrow-browed Timothy Dalton of Doctor Who, and it?s easier now to believe in a direct lineage with Troughton, Baker or Davison."
Serenity DVD Packaging Confirmation in Australia ...
I hope we get this in the UK
Festival Hall
Photography
#216
Originally uploaded by Alex Clark.
This image will depress anyone who remembers the Garden Festival in Liverpool in 1984. This is what the inside of the Festival Hall looks like now -- what a waste. I can still see the outside in the distance from my window at home and it was always a symbol of hope. Not any more. There is another image here.
#216
Originally uploaded by Alex Clark.
This image will depress anyone who remembers the Garden Festival in Liverpool in 1984. This is what the inside of the Festival Hall looks like now -- what a waste. I can still see the outside in the distance from my window at home and it was always a symbol of hope. Not any more. There is another image here.
Review 2005
Samantha Burns
Although I've had a number of little successes this year, few are worthy enough of discussing here. I mean, I'm sure you all have little interest in hearing my success in going through my shoe collection and throwing out the ones I know I just won't wear anymore.
Yup, now I'm down to just one box. Yay!
Aside from that, I have had three successes I'll mention here. First, I am proud to say that after over 10 years of loving their music, I finally got to see Slash, Duff, and Matt in concert as members of Velvet Revolver. I've been a Guns N' Roses fan since they came out with Sweet Child O' Mine. Of course, I'm too old to be a freak fan of VR - being 30, I'd look pretty silly with my walls loaded with magazine clippings of the band and wearing a black VR t-shirt daily with ripped up jeans. Regardless, it was a superb experience being able to see my favourite guys in concert.
Another achievement I'm proud of is that I quit eating McDonalds. I haven't eaten the stuff since early in the year when I saw a news story showing an image of a dead rodent in a burger and that deterred me from going there again, regardless of whether it was a scam or not.
Finally, I found something that I take great joy in doing: blogging. My site is where I get to have fun, express myself as I wish, and give to society in the form of entertainment. It's just so much fun for me.
A couple other things I've succeeded at is getting my cartooning to a level that I feel is worthy of publishing, and I also started painting.
So, I guess, really, that I've described more than a moment of success, but I think that's a good thing. Overall, I've had a successful year, so I suppose next year can only go downhill.
Great, thanks for bumming me out Feeling Listless.
Kidding, of course. Next year, even greater challenges await and I can't wait to get my hands into it.
Samantha Burns writes The Crazy Rants of Samantha Burns
For an introduction and list of contributors to Review 2005, follow this link.
Yup, now I'm down to just one box. Yay!
Aside from that, I have had three successes I'll mention here. First, I am proud to say that after over 10 years of loving their music, I finally got to see Slash, Duff, and Matt in concert as members of Velvet Revolver. I've been a Guns N' Roses fan since they came out with Sweet Child O' Mine. Of course, I'm too old to be a freak fan of VR - being 30, I'd look pretty silly with my walls loaded with magazine clippings of the band and wearing a black VR t-shirt daily with ripped up jeans. Regardless, it was a superb experience being able to see my favourite guys in concert.
Another achievement I'm proud of is that I quit eating McDonalds. I haven't eaten the stuff since early in the year when I saw a news story showing an image of a dead rodent in a burger and that deterred me from going there again, regardless of whether it was a scam or not.
Finally, I found something that I take great joy in doing: blogging. My site is where I get to have fun, express myself as I wish, and give to society in the form of entertainment. It's just so much fun for me.
A couple other things I've succeeded at is getting my cartooning to a level that I feel is worthy of publishing, and I also started painting.
So, I guess, really, that I've described more than a moment of success, but I think that's a good thing. Overall, I've had a successful year, so I suppose next year can only go downhill.
Great, thanks for bumming me out Feeling Listless.
Kidding, of course. Next year, even greater challenges await and I can't wait to get my hands into it.
Samantha Burns writes The Crazy Rants of Samantha Burns
For an introduction and list of contributors to Review 2005, follow this link.
Review 2005
Mike Atkinson
Ever since that doleful Christmas Day in my mid-teens when I found that I could carry all of my presents up to my room in one armful, the highlight of the holiday season has been the production, distribution and exchange of the hallowed Best Of The Year lists.
Although these vary in number and length from year to year according to whim, two lists are always compiled without fail: Singles Of The Year (minimum of 40) and Albums Of The Year (minimum of 20). Other supplementary lists might include gigs, films, books, cultural events, memorable experiences - and even, for a few giddy "You ARE a swan!" years in the late 1980s and early 1990s, best shags. Basic rule of thumb: if you can play it, look at it or (ahem) interact with it in other more personally specific ways, then it's ripe for ranking.
More balanced minds than mine might well deplore this strange urge to reduce every precious experience in life into a numbered item on a sheet of A4, or word processing document, or spreadsheet, or web page, or blog entry. To which I say: where is the fun in merely enjoying things as you go along, without the additional thrill of trying to compare them with other?
More importantly - and laying all ironic self-deprecation to one side for a moment - if, by cataloguing these experiences, we ensure that they are committed to our long-term memories, then doesn't that have more value than merely letting them wash over you, each fresh wave obliterating the traces of the one before?
Thus it is that, every morning of the working week, I pack my vintage Filofax into my satchel, containing hand-written lists of my favourite singles and albums from 1986 to 1999. Just in case I need to check something out during the day. (The rest are safely on the web, hence the cut-off date.) Sorry, doesn't everybody do this?
However, in all of these years of happy cataloguing - not to mention the ritual "countdown evening" which my mate Dave and I have been celebrating for the past 20 years, in which jealously guarded scraps of paper are brandished and read out, in reverse order, alternating with each successive chart position, while our respective partners cringe in the corner - no-one has ever invited me to submit any of these lists for inclusion into an official, legitimate, published Critics' Poll.
This year, that dream has come true. The ultimate validation. The cherry on top of the cake. The icing sugar on the mince pie. The brandy butter on the plum pudding. The cinnamon stick in the mulled wine. The sixpence at the bottom of the stocking. The descant variation on the final chorus of "The First Noel". The "Gawd bless you sir!" on the lips of the wassailing urchin. The complementary glass of Asti Spu at the office party. The half-day skive after lunchtime on Christmas Eve. The extra half hour on the end of Top Of The Pops. The tense little smile at the end of the Queen's speech, which almost makes you love her.
(Please feel free to re-arrange the above according to preference, awarding ten points to your favourite, nine points to your second favourite, etc. I know I shall.)
Having been charged with this solemn duty by the good people at Stylus magazine, I found myself having to deal with an altogether different set of operational guidelines. When making lists primarily for my own amusement, my only considerations are subjective. If this daft little piece of transitory disco froth has brought me greater personal pleasure than that groundbreaking milestone in the history of contemporary music, then so be it. But if I'm contributing to an official critics' poll, to be scrutinised and evaluated by a whole bunch of readers whom I have never met, and held up as some sort of definitive guide to the year's most important musical moments, then other considerations demand to be brought into play.
Also, there are tactical issues to consider. It's all very well to put that obscure Belgian dance track in your Top 10 - but if the chances of its picking up votes from any other participants are virtually zero, then why squander a perfectly good chart position? Also, why put that much loved international smash inside your top three, when it's a dead cert for the final cut anyway, and you could be promoting something a little more worthy instead?
As you might imagine, I deliberated on all of this for many, many hours, the weight of my responsibilities sitting heavily on my shoulders. But now, with the combined chart currently being revealed to the readers of Stylus magazine in daily instalments, I can smile with satisfaction at a job well done.
And then go away again, rip the first list up, and compile a completely different second list of my real favourites. Double the pleasure! What could be better!
Don't shake your heads at me like that. I am happy in my madness. Merry Christmas, everybody. And happy list-making.
Mike Atkinson writes Troubled Diva.
For an introduction and list of contributors to Review 2005, follow this link.
Although these vary in number and length from year to year according to whim, two lists are always compiled without fail: Singles Of The Year (minimum of 40) and Albums Of The Year (minimum of 20). Other supplementary lists might include gigs, films, books, cultural events, memorable experiences - and even, for a few giddy "You ARE a swan!" years in the late 1980s and early 1990s, best shags. Basic rule of thumb: if you can play it, look at it or (ahem) interact with it in other more personally specific ways, then it's ripe for ranking.
More balanced minds than mine might well deplore this strange urge to reduce every precious experience in life into a numbered item on a sheet of A4, or word processing document, or spreadsheet, or web page, or blog entry. To which I say: where is the fun in merely enjoying things as you go along, without the additional thrill of trying to compare them with other?
More importantly - and laying all ironic self-deprecation to one side for a moment - if, by cataloguing these experiences, we ensure that they are committed to our long-term memories, then doesn't that have more value than merely letting them wash over you, each fresh wave obliterating the traces of the one before?
Thus it is that, every morning of the working week, I pack my vintage Filofax into my satchel, containing hand-written lists of my favourite singles and albums from 1986 to 1999. Just in case I need to check something out during the day. (The rest are safely on the web, hence the cut-off date.) Sorry, doesn't everybody do this?
However, in all of these years of happy cataloguing - not to mention the ritual "countdown evening" which my mate Dave and I have been celebrating for the past 20 years, in which jealously guarded scraps of paper are brandished and read out, in reverse order, alternating with each successive chart position, while our respective partners cringe in the corner - no-one has ever invited me to submit any of these lists for inclusion into an official, legitimate, published Critics' Poll.
This year, that dream has come true. The ultimate validation. The cherry on top of the cake. The icing sugar on the mince pie. The brandy butter on the plum pudding. The cinnamon stick in the mulled wine. The sixpence at the bottom of the stocking. The descant variation on the final chorus of "The First Noel". The "Gawd bless you sir!" on the lips of the wassailing urchin. The complementary glass of Asti Spu at the office party. The half-day skive after lunchtime on Christmas Eve. The extra half hour on the end of Top Of The Pops. The tense little smile at the end of the Queen's speech, which almost makes you love her.
(Please feel free to re-arrange the above according to preference, awarding ten points to your favourite, nine points to your second favourite, etc. I know I shall.)
Having been charged with this solemn duty by the good people at Stylus magazine, I found myself having to deal with an altogether different set of operational guidelines. When making lists primarily for my own amusement, my only considerations are subjective. If this daft little piece of transitory disco froth has brought me greater personal pleasure than that groundbreaking milestone in the history of contemporary music, then so be it. But if I'm contributing to an official critics' poll, to be scrutinised and evaluated by a whole bunch of readers whom I have never met, and held up as some sort of definitive guide to the year's most important musical moments, then other considerations demand to be brought into play.
Also, there are tactical issues to consider. It's all very well to put that obscure Belgian dance track in your Top 10 - but if the chances of its picking up votes from any other participants are virtually zero, then why squander a perfectly good chart position? Also, why put that much loved international smash inside your top three, when it's a dead cert for the final cut anyway, and you could be promoting something a little more worthy instead?
As you might imagine, I deliberated on all of this for many, many hours, the weight of my responsibilities sitting heavily on my shoulders. But now, with the combined chart currently being revealed to the readers of Stylus magazine in daily instalments, I can smile with satisfaction at a job well done.
And then go away again, rip the first list up, and compile a completely different second list of my real favourites. Double the pleasure! What could be better!
Don't shake your heads at me like that. I am happy in my madness. Merry Christmas, everybody. And happy list-making.
Mike Atkinson writes Troubled Diva.
For an introduction and list of contributors to Review 2005, follow this link.
Going for globes
Film Quick glance at the Golden Globe nominations and see that Woody Allen is up for Best Director and Screenplay for Match Point, that the film is on for Best Picture and Scarlett Johansson is hoping for Best Supporting Actress. I haven't seen an Allen film with that kind of spread in over a decade and a half. I need to a get to a cinema... also, tucked away in the bottom I see that Bill and Kelly have been nominated for The Girl in the Cafe. It was sort of caught up in the Live 8 wave when it was broadcast with all that expectation, but on reflection it was lovely piece of work, far greater than the silly British Lost In Translation tag it got stuck with and they were great together.
Review 2005
June Gidley
I was ironing at the time. I wish I could say that I was striding across moorland, shouldering into a gale and it hit me teetering on the brink of nowhere, but sadly I was making steady progress across a duvet cover. No matter. I may not know what I really want out of life - for two years now I have been fighting against a job which bores me, a company which hates its employees and I live in an area of the country for which I have nothing but contempt - but I am a firm believer in knowing what you don't want so you don?t end up further in the shit. And I will not have children.
It came to me out of nowhere, like a name which suddenly and finally comes to you for which you had been struggling earlier in the day. But there it was, and for the first time in a very long time indeed I felt as if I had made an entirely constructive decision. I will not have children. Not because there is something physically wrong with me, I doubt there is, a doctor once said I was the healthiest person he had ever clapped eyes on, but because I do not want them.
I have said for years I wouldn't have them but over the last five or so years I suppose I had begun to think that I probably would despite all the evidence that this would be a disastrous idea.
Why not though? I am certainly a responsible enough member of society to raise another human being and would probably do it a damn sight better than some of the pram-pushing lowlife you see out and about. You want reasons? Here are a few.
I don't like children - Parents always think this is not possible. Trust me, it is. Babies in particular cause my system to go into lock-down and I have to vacate the area as soon as possible. If someone even shows me a copy of a scan I am struck dumb. Do you recall in Sex and the City when Miranda 'fakes a sonogram'? That's me. I don't know what to say or how to react because I AM NOT INTERESTED. My job as a reporter requires me to summon up interest in all manner of rubbish (planning enquiries, charity events, bins not being emptied), outside of work this is just too much of an ask for me.
I don't want to be poor - Raising a child is not a cheap business and now it carries on until they finish university, over two decades of financial grief. I am 31 and I don't even own my own home, how could I have a child? If you really want to lose that much cash put it all on the three-legged donkey in next year's National or burn a pile of cash. It's easier and there are no sleepless nights.
Hassle - There is much I don't not like about my current situation. However, not a single thing could be improved by a baby. I don't want to be doing piles of extra washing, I don't want to be woken up in the middle of the night, I don't want to spend all my time sat in other people's houses where you have gone so they can 'see the baby', I want to be able to just walk out of the house to buy the paper and not have to take mountains of crap with me. The list goes on and on and on and sodding on.
Parents - I do not want to turn in to one of these people. I have never thought that the world owes be a big favour and that seems to be pre-requisite numero uno. Likewise I fully understand that shoving a pushchair into the back of someone else's heels REALLY hurts and it seems like you lose the ability to see this.
I fear physical change - Shallow? Probably, but it's true. I can't help wanting to keep my tits where they are for as long as I can.
Psychiatric stability - I read an article earlier this year on post-natal psychosis. This is the big daddy of post-natal depression, which is patronisingly referred to as the 'baby blues'. I am a prime candidate for post-natal psychosis, this is where you go AWOL after shutting your baby in the freezer. You actually lose your mind. And I would.
That's five. There are more. The realisation came to me on a Sunday afternoon and when I left the house for work the next morning I really felt as If I was starting the next period of my life and the path for the rest of the journey had been made a hell of a lot clearer. But truths only become truer when you tell people. So, please someone explain to me why is it that when you say 'I don't want children' everyone thinks you are being funny at best or, at worse, they assume you are saying it to just get a reaction? If I was crowing about wanting four kids everyone would think this was just dandy. I have put much more thought into not wanting children than someone who finds herself knocked up through sheer idiocy yet, somehow, I am not to be taken seriously. Thank you society, I'll just carry on paying my taxes and weathering your pitying glances. Forever.
For an introduction and list of contributors to Review 2005, follow this link.
It came to me out of nowhere, like a name which suddenly and finally comes to you for which you had been struggling earlier in the day. But there it was, and for the first time in a very long time indeed I felt as if I had made an entirely constructive decision. I will not have children. Not because there is something physically wrong with me, I doubt there is, a doctor once said I was the healthiest person he had ever clapped eyes on, but because I do not want them.
I have said for years I wouldn't have them but over the last five or so years I suppose I had begun to think that I probably would despite all the evidence that this would be a disastrous idea.
Why not though? I am certainly a responsible enough member of society to raise another human being and would probably do it a damn sight better than some of the pram-pushing lowlife you see out and about. You want reasons? Here are a few.
I don't like children - Parents always think this is not possible. Trust me, it is. Babies in particular cause my system to go into lock-down and I have to vacate the area as soon as possible. If someone even shows me a copy of a scan I am struck dumb. Do you recall in Sex and the City when Miranda 'fakes a sonogram'? That's me. I don't know what to say or how to react because I AM NOT INTERESTED. My job as a reporter requires me to summon up interest in all manner of rubbish (planning enquiries, charity events, bins not being emptied), outside of work this is just too much of an ask for me.
I don't want to be poor - Raising a child is not a cheap business and now it carries on until they finish university, over two decades of financial grief. I am 31 and I don't even own my own home, how could I have a child? If you really want to lose that much cash put it all on the three-legged donkey in next year's National or burn a pile of cash. It's easier and there are no sleepless nights.
Hassle - There is much I don't not like about my current situation. However, not a single thing could be improved by a baby. I don't want to be doing piles of extra washing, I don't want to be woken up in the middle of the night, I don't want to spend all my time sat in other people's houses where you have gone so they can 'see the baby', I want to be able to just walk out of the house to buy the paper and not have to take mountains of crap with me. The list goes on and on and on and sodding on.
Parents - I do not want to turn in to one of these people. I have never thought that the world owes be a big favour and that seems to be pre-requisite numero uno. Likewise I fully understand that shoving a pushchair into the back of someone else's heels REALLY hurts and it seems like you lose the ability to see this.
I fear physical change - Shallow? Probably, but it's true. I can't help wanting to keep my tits where they are for as long as I can.
Psychiatric stability - I read an article earlier this year on post-natal psychosis. This is the big daddy of post-natal depression, which is patronisingly referred to as the 'baby blues'. I am a prime candidate for post-natal psychosis, this is where you go AWOL after shutting your baby in the freezer. You actually lose your mind. And I would.
That's five. There are more. The realisation came to me on a Sunday afternoon and when I left the house for work the next morning I really felt as If I was starting the next period of my life and the path for the rest of the journey had been made a hell of a lot clearer. But truths only become truer when you tell people. So, please someone explain to me why is it that when you say 'I don't want children' everyone thinks you are being funny at best or, at worse, they assume you are saying it to just get a reaction? If I was crowing about wanting four kids everyone would think this was just dandy. I have put much more thought into not wanting children than someone who finds herself knocked up through sheer idiocy yet, somehow, I am not to be taken seriously. Thank you society, I'll just carry on paying my taxes and weathering your pitying glances. Forever.
For an introduction and list of contributors to Review 2005, follow this link.
Review 2005
Keith Gow
2005: It was a year of change...
I turned 30...
I've never worried about my age. New Years' Eve is when I reminisce about what I have and haven't accomplished for the year. My birthdays are celebrations. Or merely excuses for celebrations.
Turning 30 is something else entirely, though. It's a big milestone. And there's an expectation there; even though I wasn't worried about getting older, there was just something about those numbers.
But beginning in late 2004 and culminating on my thirtieth birthday was something of a life-changing event that had me care less and less about a number.
I bought a home of my own...
For much of my twenties I wrote. I was going to be a writer. I may still make money doing what I love one day. But ever the practical person that I am, I realised that living with my parents and living on a dream wasn't going to entirely satisfy me.
So I looked for a job that would pay the bills and wouldn't bore me to tears. It took me a long time, but eventually I found it. Not thrilling, mind you. But it was a new kind of business - an online venture the type of which hasn't really been tried much around the world.
It wasn't what I'd spent my twenties dreaming about, but it made me more money than I ever had before. And finally I was in a position to put my savings to good use.
The home that I bought is modest in size, but big enough for me. It has two bedrooms and a combination bathroom/laundry; the rest is open plan - giving not only the allusion of lots of space but actually a fair amount of space! The kitchen has been renovated in the last few years, the floorboards are polished and it is well insulated - with a brand new wall heater that is perfect in winter.
I found pride of home ownership...
When I moved in I knew there were things that needed fixing around the place and parts of it that needed replacing. But mostly it needed a fresh coat of paint. So a couple of friends came around and for four days we painted. Turning it from the beige nightmare that it was, into a cozy modern-looking apartment. It's like a whole new place.
Soon after I was able to frame my prized original trilogy Star Wars posters and hang them on the living room walls. My dream has always been to hang movie posters on the walls of my own home. And I was able to do that.
I lost my job...
Often my enthusiasm for a new year lasts for months. Very occasionally the year from January to June is full of the promise of new, exciting prospects or plans I have made on New Years' Eve - feeling melancholy about the things I hadn't done the year before.
This year, with so many changes to my life, the good feeling continues. On average, and with me writing this on the eve of December, this is easily my favourite year ever. There's been past years that have had condensed highlights - holidays, relationships, other jobs, miscellaneous experiences - but 2005 has been continuingly fun, exciting, challenging and full of the unexpected.
Yes, I lost my job. That satisfying position that was my first real full-time endeavour. A lot of us lost our jobs - outsourced for reasons beyond our comprehension. And some of my colleagues are still looking for new sources of income. I feel bad for them.
For me, the prospect of losing my income not long after committing to a mortgage might have been unbearable. But within two days of losing my job, I had another job and at better pay. Less exciting day-to-day, but then at thirty and with a mortgage, you learn to adjust your expectations.
So many other things...
It's hard to sum up why I've loved this year so much. There are a myriad of other days and moments that spring to mind. People I've met and things I've seen. Movies I've loved and meeting Joss Whedon. Learning to embrace change and not be so scared of it. Having change actually bring satisfaction rather than disappointment.
But the major changes this year - 30 and a place of my own - have informed my life in so many fascinating ways that they seem worthy of reminiscing. And celebration.
Here's to 2006.
Keith Gow writes The New Review:A Day.
For an introduction and list of contributors to Review 2005, follow this link.
I turned 30...
I've never worried about my age. New Years' Eve is when I reminisce about what I have and haven't accomplished for the year. My birthdays are celebrations. Or merely excuses for celebrations.
Turning 30 is something else entirely, though. It's a big milestone. And there's an expectation there; even though I wasn't worried about getting older, there was just something about those numbers.
But beginning in late 2004 and culminating on my thirtieth birthday was something of a life-changing event that had me care less and less about a number.
I bought a home of my own...
For much of my twenties I wrote. I was going to be a writer. I may still make money doing what I love one day. But ever the practical person that I am, I realised that living with my parents and living on a dream wasn't going to entirely satisfy me.
So I looked for a job that would pay the bills and wouldn't bore me to tears. It took me a long time, but eventually I found it. Not thrilling, mind you. But it was a new kind of business - an online venture the type of which hasn't really been tried much around the world.
It wasn't what I'd spent my twenties dreaming about, but it made me more money than I ever had before. And finally I was in a position to put my savings to good use.
The home that I bought is modest in size, but big enough for me. It has two bedrooms and a combination bathroom/laundry; the rest is open plan - giving not only the allusion of lots of space but actually a fair amount of space! The kitchen has been renovated in the last few years, the floorboards are polished and it is well insulated - with a brand new wall heater that is perfect in winter.
I found pride of home ownership...
When I moved in I knew there were things that needed fixing around the place and parts of it that needed replacing. But mostly it needed a fresh coat of paint. So a couple of friends came around and for four days we painted. Turning it from the beige nightmare that it was, into a cozy modern-looking apartment. It's like a whole new place.
Soon after I was able to frame my prized original trilogy Star Wars posters and hang them on the living room walls. My dream has always been to hang movie posters on the walls of my own home. And I was able to do that.
I lost my job...
Often my enthusiasm for a new year lasts for months. Very occasionally the year from January to June is full of the promise of new, exciting prospects or plans I have made on New Years' Eve - feeling melancholy about the things I hadn't done the year before.
This year, with so many changes to my life, the good feeling continues. On average, and with me writing this on the eve of December, this is easily my favourite year ever. There's been past years that have had condensed highlights - holidays, relationships, other jobs, miscellaneous experiences - but 2005 has been continuingly fun, exciting, challenging and full of the unexpected.
Yes, I lost my job. That satisfying position that was my first real full-time endeavour. A lot of us lost our jobs - outsourced for reasons beyond our comprehension. And some of my colleagues are still looking for new sources of income. I feel bad for them.
For me, the prospect of losing my income not long after committing to a mortgage might have been unbearable. But within two days of losing my job, I had another job and at better pay. Less exciting day-to-day, but then at thirty and with a mortgage, you learn to adjust your expectations.
So many other things...
It's hard to sum up why I've loved this year so much. There are a myriad of other days and moments that spring to mind. People I've met and things I've seen. Movies I've loved and meeting Joss Whedon. Learning to embrace change and not be so scared of it. Having change actually bring satisfaction rather than disappointment.
But the major changes this year - 30 and a place of my own - have informed my life in so many fascinating ways that they seem worthy of reminiscing. And celebration.
Here's to 2006.
Keith Gow writes The New Review:A Day.
For an introduction and list of contributors to Review 2005, follow this link.
Links for 2005-12-11 [del.icio.us]
Interview: Stephen Gaghan, Writer-Director of Syriana, Part Two @ Cinematical
"All the people who are criticizing Syriana right now in the right-wing radio and talk-show circuit ... they haven't seen it. It's like me talking about Ann Coulter; I've never seen her; I've never really seen a word she's said..."
Viacom and therefore Paramount buys Dreamworks
Miniature Tardis prop at auction
Anyone else find the photo which accompanies this article slightly disturbing?
This Bird Has Flown: A 40th Anniversary Tribute To The Beatles' Rubber Soul Review @ Rolling Stone
Feature a Nelly McKay cover of 'If I Needed Someone'
Sunshine » Interview With The Bad Astronomer
"The other day I decided to Skype Phil to have a chat about Sci-Fi, bad movie science and travelling to the Sun?"
Diaries of A Lady of Quality: Kean
Miss Frances Williams Wynn reviews the not so recent production of 'Othello' and not the pop rock beat combo.
"All the people who are criticizing Syriana right now in the right-wing radio and talk-show circuit ... they haven't seen it. It's like me talking about Ann Coulter; I've never seen her; I've never really seen a word she's said..."
Viacom and therefore Paramount buys Dreamworks
Miniature Tardis prop at auction
Anyone else find the photo which accompanies this article slightly disturbing?
This Bird Has Flown: A 40th Anniversary Tribute To The Beatles' Rubber Soul Review @ Rolling Stone
Feature a Nelly McKay cover of 'If I Needed Someone'
Sunshine » Interview With The Bad Astronomer
"The other day I decided to Skype Phil to have a chat about Sci-Fi, bad movie science and travelling to the Sun?"
Diaries of A Lady of Quality: Kean
Miss Frances Williams Wynn reviews the not so recent production of 'Othello' and not the pop rock beat combo.
Be Not Nobody
Review 2005 Well this is really exciting. Robyn Wilder's post for Review 2005 has just won Post of the Week at Troubled Diva (against some really strong competition). Meanwhile if anyone still wants to volunteer to post the door is still open -- a few people seem to have dropped out and although I've enough posts to take us through to the 18th after that things get shakey ... feelinglistless@btopenworld.com is the address .... the explanation and list of contributions so far are here.
"Herne The Hunter, keep your lions away from my unicorns!" -- The Old Lady (Box of Delights)
Life I watched The Box of Delights this afternoon, my final course screening of the year, the BBC adaptation from twenty years ago. One of the most enchanting three hours I've spent watching anything. This manages more excitement than the first two Harry Potter films put together and although every now and then there's a slightly ropey special effect, it has the capacity to feel like an event -- I was suddenly ten years old again, watching for the first time. It leaves some of the fantastic open for your imagination -- it doesn't show you everything and leaves it up to you to decide how man becomes wolf or Kay Harker can shrink or go swiftly. If nothing else I don't there is another tv series which has both Nick Berry and Julian Sands in minor roles.
It was also fancy dress day. I thought I'd be clever and go as movie Arthur Dent so there I was in a blue bath robe, with a towel and Guide (actually a travel translator). Then two other Arthurs walked in. Eventually there were a smattering of Red Riding Hoods, some Arthur King of the Britains and a Merlin (the eventual winner). Really -- a fancy dress lecture. How cool is that?
So my first course module draws to a close. I wrote about it here originally, and I kept that excitement throughout. What I love about film, and why I'm doing this course is that there is always something new to see, new to discover. Although some of the course films have been difficult to sit through and some of the readings challenging, not once has it stopped being exciting, or enthralling. At the end of it all, in today's lecture we watched Peter Davison become Colin Baker outside the Caves of Androzani as a way of demonstrating how fantasy can help us understand and deal with change. I was suddenly emotional again.
It was also fancy dress day. I thought I'd be clever and go as movie Arthur Dent so there I was in a blue bath robe, with a towel and Guide (actually a travel translator). Then two other Arthurs walked in. Eventually there were a smattering of Red Riding Hoods, some Arthur King of the Britains and a Merlin (the eventual winner). Really -- a fancy dress lecture. How cool is that?
So my first course module draws to a close. I wrote about it here originally, and I kept that excitement throughout. What I love about film, and why I'm doing this course is that there is always something new to see, new to discover. Although some of the course films have been difficult to sit through and some of the readings challenging, not once has it stopped being exciting, or enthralling. At the end of it all, in today's lecture we watched Peter Davison become Colin Baker outside the Caves of Androzani as a way of demonstrating how fantasy can help us understand and deal with change. I was suddenly emotional again.
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