The marriage proposal still stands :(

Is there any possibility that There Will Be Blood will not win every award (all eight of them) for which it is nominated? Yes, there is; and it's my (increasingly crazed) conviction that such a possibility should not be allowed to exist, not even for the few days until the film's probable coronation. The possibility of failure should be... illegal. Seriously. The film is just too good for that.

For serious.

Life has been pretty sweet these past few weeks.

Last weekend Laura and I went down to Sunderland/Newcastle to visit Kirsty and Jim and had four days of drunken hilarity. I think Friday night was the only time we weren’t out and I remember very little of the rest due to extreme white wine consumption. The various photos (my set is here) suggest it was awesome, and I’ve learnt that saved text messages are the best way to fill in any blanks caused by alcohol abuse. Again, the 21st Century saves the day by doing all the things my brain is incapable of. We are living in a golden era, I feel.

We came back on Sunday night, greeted by some pretty sinister Scotch mist, and I chilled out for most of Monday, paying a visit to Chris’s where we watched OFFICE SPACE and ate pizza. Tuesday brought Rev at the QMU and yet another night of drinking myself stupid. I vaguely remember taking a leak on the Psychology department when walking home and being very proud of myself. Needless to say, I’ve been taking it easy since – don’t think I’ve been this consistently hardcore since first year. It’s probably time to, y’know, concentrate on my final year university.

This past Friday I went to see MARGOT AT THE WEDDING (Noah Baumbach’s follow up to THE SQUID AND THE WHALE) as apart of the Glasgow Film Festival. It was genuinely as excellent as SatW but for a lot of different reasons. Nicole Kidman’s character Margot was obviously the focus of attention, whereas SatW dedicated more time to its ensemble cast, and most of the awkward realism that Baumbach is known for came from her complicated personality and interpersonal relationships. Kidman’s performance of Margot was completely fantastic, nailing the messy, loaded encounters she has with the various people in her life. The scenes between she and her son are particularly moving, ranging from extremely affectionate and charming to brutally critical and insecure. The other characters were certainly well written and likeable, but they lacked the emotional spectrum of Margot. I didn’t feel as much affection for it as I did with SatW, because it didn’t hit so close to home (the broken variety), but it was as witty and character-rich. Definitely worth a punt if you like your complex, bitterly humourous indie films.
 

Apart from being a complete social networking whore, the mysteries of Web 2.0. have never enticed me enough to give much of a toss until recently.

For those that don't know, Web 2.0. is the nebulous title of everything about the internet that makes things easy and convenient. RSS feeds that conglomerate all your favourite sites into one digested page; social networking like Facebook and MySpace that make the toils of real life socialising mediated for your hermit convenience; sites like Digg that recommend all the hilarious articles that will make you King of Banter; sites like del.ici.ous that, um, put your bookmarks online even though bookmarks are mainly redundant if you use a RSS reader. All sorts of wonderful things that are rapidly becoming fundamental for proper internet use. Your younger brothers and sisters and, shite, the next generation will be all over this kind of crap, making you feel decrepit and useless for still thinking Google is a miracle.

And I personally intend to pre-empt those smug little bastards by jumping on the bandwagon while I'm still convincingly young. In short, GOOGLE READER is now the only site I ever read. I've subscribed to all the stuff I would've haphazardly browsed individually, likely missing all the decent content, and it appears in digested form for my convenience. It even refreshes frequently so I know immediately when a new article has appeared on any of the subscribed sites. I've literally only been using it for the past two days and already I've read more than I ever would by manual browsing. And it encourages reading proper web sites like The Guardian by making all the otherwise overwhelming information small and non-arghfucktoomuchtocompute. I hear Putin is heading for a landslide victory. That is pretty lame.

Went to see THE ASSASSINATION OF JESSE JAMES BY THE COWARD ROBERT FORD the other day and was excellent, albeit long-as-fuck like its title. Casey Affleck proves that genetics are bullshit and acts the crap out of Robert Ford, being sympathetic and intensely creepy in equal measures. Brad Pitt is his usual self, this being a Proper Film and all, and does an okay job. I'm not going to be all, 'Yeah man he can act you know, haven't you seen Fight Club' because he doesn't deserve that kind of support. But it is rather good that he backs these kinds of film. His producer credentials are also surprisingly immense.

MASS EFFECT is now officially completed and officially my second favourite Bioware game after KotOR II. I won't nerd out and explain its many charms; having already spent two hundred words on Web 2.0. and already discredited any potential coolness. But I will say that if you like RPGs and occasionally play shooters, then check it out. The cheese factor is high, but considering this is a bonafied space opera epic the campness is pretty subdued. It would be perfect if the combat wasn’t so flawed.

Anyway, going back to write more for this Victorian essay on Henry James and Elizabeth Barrett Browning to prove that I can be highbrow as well as pop culture scum. And that I can write very long sentences and get away with it.

Literally just got back from seeing THE DARJEELING LIMITED and it was completely fantastic; one of the most entertaining experiences I've had at the cinema in ages. It's much more structured and intentional than Wes Anderson's usual output but equally as funny and quirky. Touching, beautifully shot, well written/acted; everything you need in a solid trip to the cinema.See it at your soonest possible convenience.

Oh god oh god THE SOPRANOS is over and the last episode made this overtly clear by not allowing Tony to finish his final sentence. All in all, though, I admire and respect the way in which it ended. It had all the underlying suggestion that made the show so special as well as a cynicism that neutered any potential sentimentality finales often court. Maybe implying that the whole family were moments away from being murdered before cutting to black was a touch brutal, but insinuation rather than actual examples was one of show's strongest dramatic elements. Sure it pissed off all the people that thought The Sopranos was about gangsters, but they've been missing the point for six series so who cares. I'm just depressed that another HBO show is over and the TV renaissance they've been spearheading for years is rapidly coming to a close. One more series of The Wire to come in January and then it's over. Fuck :/

In other news, I have a presentation on Monday and I've yet to read the book (The Beetle by Marsh) or steel myself for the inevitable shtting-of-pants presentations inspire in me. Mass Effect should be coming in the mail tomorrow, though, so at least I'll be able to procrastinate in an eye-bleedingly pretty way.

The new PJ Harvey single 'The Piano' now has a video. It involves the use of cut-out pornography arranged so that the black censor bars spell out lyrics from the song.

Very bizarre and not sure how it fits in with the whole 'alienated West Country' thing she's been pushing with the new album, but really I'm just relieved she released my favourite White Chalk song as a single. The lyrics "Daddy's in the corner / rattling his keys / Mummy's in the doorway / trying to leave" are pretty much my favourite PJ Harvey lyrics ever and it's a fucking amazing song. I might have to geek-out on the 26th and buy the 7" vinyl.

STFU and GTFO, Disney.

Livejournal just automatically took a subscription payment out my account for this thing and reminded me it existed. Seems like life no longer allows time for extended nasal gazing, so I'm going just dump links and photos of things I'm preoccupied with lately. 

First is SANTOGOLD, the solo work of Santi White, a singer/song-writer probably best known for writing most of 'How I Do', an album by Res that no one seemingly gave a shit about regardless of how phenomenal it was. Hopefully Santi won't be ignored in quite the same depressing way. Listen to 'Creator' on her MySpace and prepare to grind.

Second is PANDA BEAR. I went to see an Animal Collective show last week at the Oran Mor and their main singer Avery Tare, afflicted with Scotland's traditional means of welcome (a cold bitch slap). was too ill to perform, so we were treated to a Panda Bear solo show instead (with a few Strawberry Jam songs for good measure). Couldn't have turned out any better -- Person Pitch, Panda Bear's second solo album, is by far and away my favourite Animal Collective related release. I was something of a happy bunny. A partially blinded happy bunny - the light show blitzed the audiences' eyes and caused all contact wearers to have their lenses weld to their eyes. Pretty fucking cool. 

Third is Films I Haven't Seen Yet, but Should; an initiative to fill in all the embarrassing gaps in my movie knowledge. Yesterday I watched Magnolia and Do The Right Thing. The former was a stressful, compulsive experience that, in retrospect, I've decided I enjoyed even if I initially felt dissatisfied when it ended. The latter made me want to pound Spike Lee's smarmy, self-important face into the ground . . . but otherwise is as good as people say. Maybe Lee got over his obvious narcissism in his later films, but Do The Right Thing is a swollen mess of his own egomania. Undermines the message a wee bit. I've got a massive list of films to get through, but next I'm watching is One Who Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.  

Okay, I want to ask a favour. Go here, click 'Videos' and then watch 'Tapping the Wire'. Charlie Brooker (a reason to watch unto itself) tells you why you should watch The Wire and summarises exactly why it really is that good.

Even if you already know how godlike The Wire is in the world of television, watch it anyway. The amount of surprises I got from it, mainly in how many of the key cast members are British (!), are worth the 20 minutes alone. Going straight to the top of the list of 'When I Get My Student Loan . . .' is getting as many box sets as I can afford. Along with a new cheap-and-nasy phone and some clothes.

I really should get a job.

So Tuesday brought a wee jaunt down to Hampstead to visit the face doctors. Nothing major, just a check up to see how I felt about having the right side done. There was a minor amount of trepidation a year ago when I was last asked, mainly because the idea of disfiguring both sides of my face didn't especially appeal to me, but I said I'd come back in a years time and see how I felt.

Funnily enough, I didn't feel much different on Tuesday. In fact I (very tactfully) enquired about having everything reversed. Turns out doing that would only remove the bulk and none of the paralysis or scarring. The scarring I can deal with (it's minor and can be hidden with various kinds of hair), but keeping the gorm-like paralysis with none of the moderate benefits of the nerve transplant? Not appealing.

Next question related to aesthetic damage control: can they do anything about the lip hang, paralysis etc. etc. Turns out they can with the lip hang, but it would cause further scarring. Maintaining perfect composure (a complete task in these situations - surgeons are socially inept, tunnel-visioned fuckwits who inspire a good slap rather than respect) I asked how exactly the scar would look, desiring hindsight I wishwishwished I had before I started doing all this shite to my face. He seemed hesitant/impatient to humour me and after a few visible winces and half-scowls from my INCREDIBLY CALM self he drew a rough picture. From what I could tell it'll basically be a line at the corner of my mouth. Potentially shocking, but it would mean I could seal my lips. I don't need to tell you, after the amount of hilarious adventures I've had with food and drink, this would be a wonderful thing. Plus, looks-wise, it couldn't be much worse than what I'm living with now. So I've been booked in for it and will hear from them soon.

Another beneficial thing from this meeting - note my complete surprise; these meetings have been the most infuriating encounters of my entire life - is that the surgeon is going to organise a meeting with their on-staff counsellor on, from what I can tell, the day of the op. Part of me wants to know more before I commit to having any more face-altering operations done, but I'm relieved to talk to someone that isn't a surgeon and therefore an actual empathetic human being. I really want to know why the fuck they didn't refer me to this person earlier, but such is life.

Still, I'm not adverse to cancelling this future op if I don't get a distinct idea what I will be faced (o ya) with afterwards. I'm very much of the opinion of Leaving Well Alone these days.

So home hasn't been as dire as I thought it might be. Having a new house and new dog makes it seem less like the drudge I ran away from as an impatient 19-year-old. I'm also less prone to self-involved, Catcher in the Rye-styled (oh how I hate you, Catcher in the Rye) bouts of pubescent world-loathing these days. Northampton, judged on its own merits, is an okay town. What I associate it with, however, is a cretinous sinkhole full of arseholes with fuck all to do.

The latter is still fairly true, but knowing I never actually have to live here again makes it easier to deal with.

So nothing exciting is happening. I'm house and dog-sitting at the moment while the parents are away on holiday at "The Lakes". I awake each morning to find the lounge in varying states of disrepair with various dog-related toilet activities on the carpet. This new greyhound Sally is adorable and everything, but she's taking a long bloody time to adjust to living in a house. Seeing her now, reclining in her plush dog bed like she was born with it, makes me question the genuineness of her deviant kennel-like behaviour. Dogs are always smarter than they let on. Bollocks to the whole pack mentality theory; packs don't allow their members to shit where they sleep. Unless they know they'll get special doggy treats every moment they aren't shitting to encourage them not to.

I love that bitter, suspicious cynicism can be applied to the animal kingdom and still ring true. It's comforting in a 'I'll never love another' sort of way.

P.S. I love you, anti-folk.

London yesterday was great fun. I'm slowly reassessing my deep-seated dislike for the city, having spent a few times seeing it as a cohesive whole rather than a fractured school trip destination or occasional gig venue pilgrimage. We (Rhiannon and I) wandered around Camden for a while, looking at the various market stools and being tortured by the amazing smells from the food stands. I only had £20 to spend for the whole day, so no amazing purchases, but I got a pair of black fingerless gloves and a journal made out of recycled plants, so I felt suitably boho by home time.

We also visited Trafalgar Square, sitting underneath Nelson's Column and watching all the tourists attempting to climb the lion statues (being too wussy and poorly footwear'ed to try ourselves). After a while of people-watching we decided to Experience Things and visited the National Gallery, where I proceeded to utilise the one year of History of Art I did in at university to great irritating effect. I enjoyed myself, at least; seeing all the Early/High Renaissance paintings made me regret (kinda) dropping it at the end of first year.

After that we got hungry and decided to investigate China town for any decent noodle stands. Turns out it's mostly restaurants and neither of us had the money to do them justice, so we trekked up to Covent Gardens to see what it had to offer us. Turns out it was a rather tasty falafel place called Just Falafs. We sat on a pillar while eating and took in the sights and sounds. The sounds specifically being some really stressful polka music that made trying to eat the falafel wrap without looking completely special (a daily challenge in my life) rather hilarious.

Good times, though. We've already decided to organise a massive Glasgow > London pilgrimage at the end of summer. Imagining any amount of my friends together on a Megabus (budget coach company) for nine hours is too entertaining to not actually do it. Plus I now have hindsight for exactly what I want to do and where I want to eat for the next visit. London really can't be faulted for having opportunities for awesomeness.

I'm home now, which friends and confidants will be fully aware of due to my endless moaning.

I shan't humour such inclinations here, however, as I've decided to man up and grow a pair. I'm still pretty sick and it isn't doing much to lighten the mood, but I'm reading Portrait of a Lady at the moment and it has inspired me to stfu and enjoy things (a prerequisite of all great books). This is the power of reading, children. Who needs blind faith and absentee deities; Liberal Humanism 4life yo.

In other news, you should all check out Vice TV if you haven't already. I've been reading the magazine for a year or two and this warrants the same reputation by being as hilarious/disturbing/weirdly informative. Specifically check out 'Toxic' and 'The Cute Show' featuring hedgehogs. I don't think I've ever wanted a pet as badly.

So, my summer plans amount to:

Writing this Shakespeare essay. Somehow, after an encouraging start, I've managed to leave it to the last minute again. Although, to be fair, I had a pretty rough bout of illness between the good start and now, so the disappointment and guilt is diluted with smug, knowing awareness of my shit immune system. At this point I like to ignore the fact that I annihilate countless white blood cells with smoking cigarettes. It makes the whinging much easier.

Going back to Northampton and getting a job. The reality of both hasn't really sunk in. The job isn't particularly upsetting, but the fact I'll be doing it in Northampton for the whole summer isn't filling me with much joy. The highlights will mostly come from seeing all the hometown folk, who I haven't seen for a year and more. Most of them will have graduated from their three-year English university courses (Scotland having a merciful four years as standard, thank fuck) and will be aimlessly wandering around, thinking about entering the real world and give back to society. I'm obviously going to bank of this and hinder their progress by demanding constant attention. I'm fed up of Northampton being a non-entity; I want some decent memories in my final summer before I abandon the place entirely.

Seeing people elsewhere. Got my wee London trip to see Rhiannon and Claire (who is also visiting) and I love them both, so we shall have bumloads of fun in our traditional fashion. Eleanor and Phil are also both London-based, and hopefully (funds permitting) I'll get to see Feist for her late-July gig at Scala with Philip and his missus Sonia.

In other news, I finally tracked down the Tony Takitani OST on iTunes. Short of the Amelie OST (and Yann Tiersen's always-stellar output) I don't think I've been as moved by a soundtrack (and a film) like Tony Takitani. I'm choking back the tears by the DVD menu, and I'm officially crushed into a quivering mess by the first two minutes of the film. Actually beautiful. The OST is by Ryuichi Sakamoto, and I lie to you not when I say you need to own both the album and the film itself. The UK version of the DVD comes in a hot pink case, which is cause for ownership unto itself.

Seriously, why are you still reading this guff? Amazon and iTunes beckons. Hence, bitches.

Procrastination from working on a Shakespeare essay, you say? Why hello Livejournal.

This week's excitement came in the form of a trip to Bloc to see Federation of the Disco Pimp; a flat-warming from Kirsty and Laura, and a caravan of folks showing up last night for drinks and banter.

Federation of the Disco Pimp were as enjoyable as the name suggests. I hadn't seen them before, but stories of previous experiences involved of lots of shameless dancing so I was clearly all over that shit in a second. And indeed there was dancing and drinking and rockingness. They did an immense cover of Beck's 'Sex Laws', which may have ingratiated them to me for the rest of time.

Kirsty and Laura's party was pretty awesome bar the muggy humidity that knocked out most of the attendants and gave me this queasy gestating sensation in my stomach. I like to think I'm all fit and well now, smoking and drinking not unlike a tenacious Frenchman, but the occasional coughing fit where I almost pass-out from inhaling too much suggests otherwise. Not that stops me or anything. Hopefully the crippling stomach cramps will subside soon, because my excessive watching of House lately has encouraged my hypochondria to scary new heights.

Last night involved Laura coming over to pick up the rest of her stuff and she brought the dregs of the party with her, who were mostly hung-over and/or stoned. We ended up exemplifying modern student living by sitting around watching Michel Gondry videos and playing on the Wii. Then when everyone left Mike and I stayed up until stupid'o'clock in the morning and talked about the feminist merits of Shakespeare.

I know, I sicken myself sometimes.