This week I managed to actually gain some employment, and for the last 5 days I’ve been temping at an office in Kings Hill – which is a sort of artificial suburb in the middle of nowhere, basically. There’s a kind of business centre bit, and a ‘town centre’ with a supermarket, pub, restaurants, cafes, etc. And then there are houses and streets spread around too. It’s hard to describe, but it’s a very odd place and I find it decidedly creepy. It’s sort of like the fake TV world inThe Truman Show – it all looks real enough, but you can’t help feeling that if you looked through some of the doors of the houses there’d be nothing but a backlot and discarded props, with some lighting guys sitting around smoking and playing cards.

Anyway, the point is that I have a job, and while it is nice to be earning and to have something to do, it is incredibly tedious work and not something I hope to be doing for very long. My manager keeps making comments that make me suggest he’d like me to stick around for quite a while – things like ” I was a temp here when I started, and now it’s ten years later and I’m the manager of my own team!” (that ‘team’ being one man named Matthew). He also said, when introducing me to some of the other people in the office, that “Jamie will be here for about 3 weeks – and we hope quite a bit longer!”, which set alarm bells off in my head.

I think it’s very easy to get too comfortable in an office job that you don’t really want or enjoy, particularly at the level of a temp. You’re getting regular pay, the work’s not too challenging and you can forget about it once you get home – you’re living for the weekend, and you’ve got money in your pocket. By no means a bad life, but it’s hardly fulfilling, and it’s not something I want to happen to me. My boss’s words, rather than being reassuring, in fact presented me with the chilling prospect of waking up ten years from now in the same office, doing the same job and in charge of a man named Matthew, wondering where my life went.

I am happy to have the work though; partly for the money, but also because this frightening vision of a possible future has renewed my determination to find myself a job that I actually want to do, that I’ll find stimulating and enjoyable, and that will hopefully lead on to a career. Spending so much time sat at home with nothing to do made me a little unfocused I think, and now I want to concentrate my efforts more fully on the task at hand.

This morning I spent a considerable amount of time making a playlist on Spotify, which I know might not seem like the actions of a man who claims to be getting his priorities straight, but I hardly think I can focus on applying for jobs and working on my CV without a suitable soundtrack. Anyway, I don’t criticise you for wasting your time reading blogs.

For those interested, here is the playlist, and the tracklisting:

1. Pram – Beluga (Grandmaster Gareth remix)
2. Akron/Family – They Will Appear
3. Born Ruffians – Hummingbird
4. Major Lazor – Can’t Stop Now
5. Dirty Projectors – Stillness Is The Move
6. The Bird And The Bee – Tonight You Belong To Me
7. Das Wanderlust – Humbug
8. Busdriver – Dream Catcher’s Mitt
9. The Shangri-Las – Give Him A Great Big Kiss
10. Mew – Repeaterbeater
11. Animal Collective – Bluish
12. Mr Oizo – Steroids (feat. Uffie)
13. Young MC – Got More Rhymes
14. Culture – Poor Jah People
15. Au – Are Animals
16. Vaselines – You Think You’re A Man

Review in Haiku

Citizen Kane (Orson Welles, 1941)

Critics’ favourite?
There’s not even one car chase!
Unbelievable

I had an appointment with the nurse at my GP’s office today – nothing serious, just a check-up; blood-pressure, etc. And I’m ok!

Anyway, I decided to walk from my house in Walderslade to the doctor’s in Lordswood. I haven’t been into Lordswood since I left primary school, about 12 years ago. It was very odd walking through there and seeing all these places I could vaguely remember. It’s a lot more run down than the last time I was there – most of the shops are closed, and there’s a depressing emptiness to the place that just makes you feel a little sad. It’s a bit like Morecambe, but not as bad obviously.

Anyway, the walk takes about 40 minutes or so, and I arrived a little before my appointment was due and checked myself in at the reception.  The response at the desk was cold.

“You’re supposed to be here next week.”

I explained that I originally had an appointment next week, but had received a phone call telling me to come in today instead. This didn’t seem to go down well, and I was left waiting at the desk while the receptionist went out back to investigate.

I was really hoping they weren’t going to send me home. It’s not that I mind the walk – I actually really like going for walks; it’s refreshing, and it’s great for contemplation and going over ideas. My issue was more that I had carried a tube of hot, fresh urine in my pocket all the way from my house, and I didn’t want to then have to carry it all the way home again.

Just to be clear, the urine was to give to the nurse (at her request) for testing. I wasn’t just carrying it around for fun. Although I did splash it on a couple of trees, the sides of some houses, etc. Marking territory, you understand.

As it happens, this story just sort of peters out there, because they just said I could see the nurse anyway, and the urine was handed over. But just think; what if I’d had to walk home with it and had got into some sort of humorous caper? Wouldn’t that have been funny? Haha! Imagine that!! Oh God, that would’ve been priceless.

I noticed in the news yesterday that there’s a lot of people who are unhappy about these new scanners at Manchester airport that can see through your clothes. The problem people have is that whoevers checking the screens can see your genitals (and breasts, if you have them). Quite honestly, I’d rather have someone get a peek at my goods than have my goods blown apart and away across the sky by a hidden bomb.

Looking at this picture, I think the images make you look kind of like Dr Manhattan. They should just call it ‘The Manhattaniser’ or ‘The Manhatt’a'man’ and offer people a printed copy of the picture. People will be queuing up to go through there. Even people who aren’t actually flying anywhere would come in wanting a go. What a money-maker! Now we’re cooking with gasoline. Or ‘Manhassoline’.

As a farewell gift for today, enjoy this fat slice of geniards. All I have to say is “eurrrgh. eeuurrgh. eeeurrrgh. eeeuuurgh. haaawh. HAAAWHH. AAAAUHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

Review in Haiku

Urban Ghost Story (Geneviève Jolliffe, 1998)

Strange little movie.
Does well by not showing if
Ghosts are really there

The last time I left the house was June 5th. I had been to the supermarket for my essential buys – cream, eggs, batteries – and had hoped to use the toilets in the shop. Upon reaching them, however, I was dismayed to find they were closed due to vandalism. I wracked my brain for an alternative. My house was too far a walk to hold in what I was carrying, and I didn’t want to risk having to urinate outside.

With a smile, I recalled there was a public toilet in the park – a bit out of the way of my normal journey, but ‘needs must!’ I thought, and quickly made my way out of the shop.

By the time I reached the park the situation was getting desperate, and I rushed into the toilet and straight into the cubicle – urinals make me feel self-conscious. To my horror, the toilet’s bowl was pasted with a foul-smelling soup of oily human discharge, and the floor sticky with old waste. I decided I would risk the urinals after all.

I opened the cubicle door and stepped back into the toilet’s main area – ‘The Defacators’ Lounge’, as I humourously refer to it in private. Just then, another man entered through the door and spotted me. He was startled at first but then smiled, nodded and gestured to the door he was holding open.

An icey chill gripped my spine. He thought I was leaving, he was holding the door open for me. Could I tell him I wasn’t ready to leave? I looked into his eyes; sparkling with kindness, the sincere smile on his chubby face wavering slightly as I inspected his features. I felt my bladder twitch against the weight of my burden, as the man gestured again towards the open door, his brow beginning to furrow. I had to act.

“Why thank you!” I cried, and marched out into the frosty park. I hated myself, but more than that I hated the earnest and chubby man. I curse his name to this day.

In a state of panic, I tried to calm myself and consider my options. My insides flexed and I felt a slight spurt of warmth gush into my briefs. I clenched hard and let out a whimper of despair, a single tear ran down my cheek to my mouth. I licked it off and tried to focus on the taste, willing my body not to rebel against me.

“I’ll have to run…” I thought, and with that I was off; bounding across the grass and towards the road, breathing hard against the strain on my lungs. It had been a long time since I had been made to run anywhere, and I have to admit I was not at my physical peak. As the pain in my chest grew, I starting uncontrollably releasing a loud noise with every inhaled breath, a sort of “whhhooooaaaaahhhnnkk!” Try as I might, I couldn’t control it.

As I left the park and rounded the corner, I suddenly ran into a large group of parents, teachers and children standing around the gates of the school. It was home-time, and luck was not on my side. As I passed into the throng of people and their young offspring, I lost my footing on the edge of the curb, and the shock of it unleashed an almight “wwwhhhhhoooooooaaaaaaaaaaahhhhnkkkkkUHHHHHH!” Immediately, laughter erupted around me. It burned my ears, the volume of it; I stopped and looked around me. Children pointing their stubby little hands at me, delighted at my terrible outburst. The adults looked embarressed as they half-heartedly tried to discipline their kid through their own stifled laughter. The humiliation enraged me.

“You…HUUUUHHHH… monsters!” I shouted, my breath evading capture. “You…HUUUUHHHHH… you mock aHUUUUHHHHH… an innocent man? HUUUHHHHHH Shame! Shame on you aHUUUUUHHHHH… all!”

The laughter died suddenly, and all was silent. The parents looked suddenly dismayed, embarressed. The children looked at each other with wide eyes. For a moment, the world was still, and then I felt it. The warm, cloying feeling around my loins. Steam seemed to be rising from my legs and into the air as vapour, stinging my nostrils. Something trickled into my sock, and I shuddered. Laughter enshrouded me, and I fled.

It’s been weeks, maybe months since I last went outside. I had to put black bags all over my windows to block out my laughing neighbours, and the children who would come to the end of my path. For a while I would peek out of the letter box, and I could see them – hiding in the bushes, or ducked down behind the fence. After 6 weeks, I taped it shut.

My food supply is down to nothing now. I’m weak, emaciated – my skeletal form reflects back at me from my useless television screen (the power was cut off long ago, probably part of some sick joke).

This morning, I could cope no more. I decided to take action, the only action I could see as an option. I would have to catch, kill and eat my cat, Chris Thompson. He is my last connection with the outside world, and has been a good friend to me these last, difficult months. It was a hard decision to make, but I made it all the same, and as Mr. Thompson entered through the cat-flap into the kitchen, I pounced on him, and we tussled.

The fight did not last long, and in my weakened state I was quickly overpowered. Chris pinned me to the floor, sitting on my chest and scratching me lightly on the nose. We’ve been like this for twenty minutes now; me sprawled on the floor, Chris sitting on my chest, purring victoriously. As he curls up and closes his eyes, drifting into a deep, contented sleep, it’s all I can do to quietly cry.

Review in Haiku

Paper Moon (Peter bogdanovitch, 1973)

Brilliant movie
With two O’Neills and a Kahn
Cross-country conning

P.S. You may have noticed my posts have not been as frequent since I’ve returned from my holiday – as you can see, I’ve jumped from day 100 to 105. This is because I’ve been busy with other things this past week or so, or if not busy, then not in a position to update this blog. I’ve tried my hardest to put something on here on a daily basis, but it’ s not always possible, and then I end up with a backlog of days I need to write something for – which makes it all seem a bit too much like hard work! Also, it means the quality of what I’ve put up is affected (which could be terrible news if you think it’s all pretty shit). So, in future I’ll just be writing stuff whenever I can – although I’ll try to keep it as regular as possible!

Lily Allen’s been getting a lot of stick recently for her views on music piracy and illegal downloading. Her feeling is that file-sharing pirated albums is destroying the music industry, making “British music Cowell puppets”, as record companies stop taking risks, signing only sure-fire hit makers. Her efforts in confronting piracy have been well documented, particularly on the web, where many blogs and file-sharing forums have attacked her mercilessly, calling her ignorant and accusing her of infringing on “free culture”. Much venom has also been directed at her due to her apparent use of copyrighted material in her own online ‘mixtapes’, with people calling her up on what they see as a “do as I say, not as I do” attitude.

Undoubtedly, Allen would claim that her mixtapes are actually encouraging sales for the artists included on them. This is probably true, but an argument could equally be put forward that file-sharing and downloads do the same thing. Research company The Leading Question released a report in 2005 showing that heavy users of free peer-to-peer networks spent four and a half times more money on music than their non-downloading counterparts. According to the report, the people who search out and download the most free music are also the biggest consumers, being the most passionate and avid fans of the industry.

One could turn to Radiohead’s last album ‘In Rainbows’ as a good case study for this point. As you will no doubt be aware, the band decided that they would premiere their seventh record online, and allow their fans to choose how much they wanted to pay for it – even if they wanted it for nothing. At the time, Allen was again very vocal about Radiohead’s decision to market their album in this way, calling them “arrogant” and claiming their actions would “send a weird message to younger bands who haven’t done as well”. In fact, the message younger bands might take from Radiohead’s move is that if you treat your audience with respect, they will repay you in kind. ‘In Rainbows’ actually made more money in it’s pre-release download form than ‘Hail to the Thief’ had made in total.

The success of Radiohead’s ‘pay-what-you-like’ scheme could be said to give an encouraging view of the future of music to bands starting out. It shows that it is possible to sell and market one’s work without having to go through record labels or sign over the rights to your own material. Allen herself has acknowledged the possibilities sites like MySpace give to young artists,  being that they can release their stuff to an unlimited audience with the click of a button.

Speaking from personal experience, I have friends in bands who I’m sure would agree have made more progress using the internet than they have faced losses. Online services help connect bands to other musicians, promoters, radio shows, venues and the general public with ease, and for free. And that leads on to more traditional forms of promotion and sales – playing gigs and getting seen is a big part of being in a band, and it’s a great opportunity to sell records – and if you’re good, you will sell them.

Allen’s claim that new artists will decrease in number if piracy continues is ludicrous – who does she think is downloading this stuff? These people are music fans, and music fans are those new artists. People were making music long before it was an industry, and even if that industry ever completed ceased to be (which it never will) bands would still be forming and people would still be writing songs – songs that other people will want copies of. I also don’t understand her apparent belief that fans of Simon Cowell’s oeuvre don’t illegally download music – does poor taste go hand-in-hand with an unflinching law-abiding nature?

It’s unfair to direct all this opposition towards Lily Allen, though. In fairness to her, she’s trying to stand up for and encourage new music, and the British music industry as a whole. As with the record companies and the government, however, her approach is all wrong. People don’t like being told what to do; they resent it. That’s why nobody likes their boss. You might argue that point, and perhaps you are a boss reading this yourself – well can you honestly say anyone really likes you? Really? When was the last time you spent any time with another person who wasn’t paid to be there? That’s a hazy memory, I’ll bet. Probably just before you got that big promotion, wasn’t it? You arse.

Anyway, I digress. The music industry’s tactics in battling piracy have so far taken the form of threats, sanctions and example making. The latest idea is for a “three-strikes” legislation, where serial downloaders will have their bandwidth reduced dramatically to prevent them from using anymore than basic web and email. This ‘carrot and stick approach’ to illegal file sharing (a term used by the British Phonegraphic Industry’s Matt Phillips) won’t work, and it won’t work precisely because people resent being ordered around. If you threaten them, they’ll come back at you twice as hard. It’s the same logic to putting a sign up in a park saying ‘Keep off the Grass’, or telling someone ‘whatever you do, don’t push that button’ – the grass will be trampled, the button will be pushed, and no-one’s left any better off.

What the industry needs to do is step away from their defensive stance and instead try to understand the online culture that’s formed around them. Record companies seem to have forgotten that they are there to provide a service to their customers, not the other way round. And who are their customers if not the hardcore music fans who are at the heart of this whole debate? A proper discourse needs to be opened up, and on both sides; file-sharers do themselves no favours by arguing in the same sentence that Lily Allen is ignorant for her views and a” junkie cunt”.

I make no claims to having any ideas for solutions myself – no system will ever be perfect. Someone will always want to make more money, and equally someone will always want to avoid spending it. But what I am certain of is that threats and punishments will do nothing to stop or even slow piracy and downloads – a wat around sanctions will always be found, which will only mean increasingly strict sanctions – and that in turn will only work to push people further from the ‘legitimate’ methods of consuming products.

Review in Haiku

The Fountain (Darren Aronofsky, 2006)

An hour and a half
Of absolute confusion.
A good soundtrack, though!

Today I’m back on looking for work, and as such have been putting the hours in filling in an application form. It’s a real tricky one, and I have to get it in tomorrow. I hate application forms, they make me feel really stupid. I read the questions and my brain shuts down completely, I have no idea how to even begin answering them. The same thing happens when I look at maths problems, but that’s because I actually am really stupid.

I have had to deal with a lot of other people’s emotional turmoil over the past few days. One friend has been spectacularly dumped out-of-the-blue, leaving him depressed and confused, and needing to phone me and repeat himself over and over (he does that when he’s not upset, though). Another buddy of mine is upset because his girlfriend has just started uni and has moved up to Nottingham. I don’t mind listening to these guys problems – that’s what friends are for, of course – but I have absolutely no idea what to say to people in these situations.

I guess having something to say back isn’t really the point though. When you’re upset, you just want to get all your problems off your chest, and I suppose that’s the service I’m providing. I just listen and say “oh dear” and “yes, that’s bad”, and that seems satisfactory. Perosnally, I keep all my problems bottled up to the point of bursting, when I get very irritable and take it out on everyone. It’s nice to share.

In between filling in tricky forms and having people unburden themselves at me, I’ve been thinking of lots of writing ideas – sketches, short stories, parodies. I’ll put some of them up here if and when I write them. I’ve got a whole heap of sketch ideas now; I may try to put the best ones together. If I can get them into some sort of order that works as one, flowing script, maybe I’ll send it around to see what people think. The worst that can happen is everyone will hate it and I’ll be left in the same position I’m in now. Writing this bloody blog.

Might ring someone up and cry at them.

Review in Haiku

The Room (Tommy Wiseau, 2003)

Oh, Holy Heaven;
An event unto itself.
Awesomely awful

Working titles: “A Knotty Problem”, “The Hairless Man”, “Dib-Dib-Death”

Chapter 32

The sand blew hard across the desert, trying to force Langdon back as he pushed over the dunes. Nature could not know that he was a man on a mission, a mission he could not give up from on. Behind him walked his assistant, Chests Beautington. She was foreign and exotic, and needed protecting like a woman, which she was.

Suddenly, something appeared through the hard, sand winds. “There,” said Langdon. “There it is. The original scout hut, built here in the Sahara in old days. I knew the trail would lead us here.”

“You are very smart,” said Chests, and blushed coyly.

The pair approached the old building and looked at the door.

“You see, the scout symbol is on the door here,” said Langdon, and he pushed it and the door opened and they went in to it.

It was dark inside, but Langdon had a torch which he could use to see. They walked in slowly, Chests staying close to Langdon as they passed through into the main chamber. Inside, and old-time camping lamp was already lit up.

“Oh God, someone got here before us!” Langdon felt Chests grip his torso tighter as the words escaped his mouth.

Suddenly, a voice called out from the darkness. “That’s right, Professor! You’re too late.” Out of the shadows stepped the Shaved Captain, his bald head catching the light from the old lamp.

“You!” Even Langdon was surprised. “So I was right all along when I thought you were the killer, before you tricked me into thinking that you weren’t. What a spectacular twist to this tale!”

“Indeed. It was I who was killing scout leaders across the globe, for it was they who held the secret of the position of this secret scout hut – in which there are hidden many secrets, secrets which I will soon hold secretly for myself alone. And you are going to help me, Professor.”

Langdon snorted, because he thought this was a funny idea. “Ha! What makes you think I’ll ever help you?”

“Because, I have a gun in my hand and it’s pointing at you! If you don’t wish for you and your beautiful and exotic assistant to soon be dead, you will do as I say.”

Langdon looked at the Shaved Captain’s hand, and he could see it was true. “My God. You are an insane man.”

Suddenly, the Captain’s face shrivelled into a grimace. “Insane?! Insane you say?” He walked slowly towards Langdon and Chests. “Tell me Professor, have you ever shaved all the hair from your body?”

“Of course,” replied Langdon. “I did it when I used to swim in competitions at college.”

Chapter 33

“Ah yes, I could tell from your muscular body that you are a swimmer. To shave oneself is liberating, don’t you think? You can never be truly naked until you have taken off nature’s clothing. I remember the first time I did it. The feeling was…ecscwizzit exkuist nice”

“What the hell are you talking about?” asked Langdon, angry with the Shaved Captain because he was scaring Miss Beautington, who had started to cry.

“Purity, Professor Langdon. The uncorrupted purity of a child. They threw me out of the boy scouts because I wanted to shave all the older boys, to keep them pure. It was a move they lived to regret – when I killed them!”

“There’s nothing pure about you, Shaved Captain. You’re just a crazy man with a gun. Can’t you see what you’re doing goes against everything the Boy Scouts stand for?”

“Wh-what are you talking about?”

“Duty to God, sir. God created us, and he created body hair. To call it impure is to call God impure. They were right to take your badges away, and they were right to withdraw your membership from the scouts!”

The Shaved Captain was angry. “No! I’ll kill you with my bare hands!” he cried.

Suddenly, he leapt at Langdon, and they fought. It did not last very long though, as Professor Langdon overpowered the Shaved Captain easily with his big arms. “You’re going to jail.”

Chests ran to Langdon, her make-up running down her cheeks. “Oh, Robert!” she cried.

“There, there little lady. It’s over now.”

“But, but what about the riddle of the Scout method? Surely we can;t leave such mysteries here in the middle of the Sahara?”

Langdon smiled and took her in his handsome arms. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I solved the clues earlier on, when we came in.”

“Oh Robert!” Beautington kissed him hard on the mouth, and she knew that she loved him. “You are so clever, brave and handsome. I love you Professor Langdon!”

“Please, call me Dan Brown Professor Langdon”

Review in Haiku

The Wrestler (Darren Aronofsky, 2008)

Moving and funny.
Rourke’s face seems to have been stretched
Round a basket ball

Ok, so I didn’t write a blog post a day to put up here when I got back. In fact, I didn’t write anyblogs at all. It quickly dawned on me that 1 – I couldn’t be bothered, 2 – it wouldn’t be interesting to read, and 3 – it’d be a lot of uninteresting stuff to read. So instead, I’ll summarise my holiday in this one, easy-to-digest post. It still may be boring, though.

We arrived in Portugal early – about 9am. This meant we’d had to get a taxi to the airport from our house at about quarter to 3 in the morning, so me and my brother stayed up late and watched The Room – probably the most spectacularly wonderful film I have ever seen, for all the wrong reasons. If you’ve not had the pleasure, I suggest you seek it out.

Anyway, for our holiday we were staying in a house up in the hills near Ponte de Lima, in northern Portugal. The house was lovely, with a garden stretching right down the hill, growing grapes, lemons, oranges, walnuts, chestnuts and figs. There was a pool too, which for the most part was freezing to the point of complete testacle retraction. I still swam in it most days, but that’s mainly because I’m real tough. There were also some sheep wondering around, but they mostly kept to themselves.

In all honesty, I didn’t do very much on my trip, mainly I lay about and sunned myself while drinking shandies and gin and tonic – out of respect to my middle class roots. Of the few occasions we did head out and about though, my favourite was when we went to a national park and wandered around some hills, where there were waterfalls and beautiful natural ponds. I climbed to the top of one of the waterfalls, and found a little pool with a shelter dug into the rock next to it. It was lovely warm water and I would have liked to have spent some time swimming around up there if it weren’t for my accursed family waiting for me at the bottom of the falls.

My dad spent the holiday practising being a doddery old man, wondering aimlessly around and breaking things. He crashed our hire car towards the end of the holiday. We were driving back from a day trip and he claimned to have found a shortcut back to the house, on a road which ran along the bottom of the garden. At one point the road narrows and goes round a slight bend, with the runis of an old house on the right-hand side. As we drove towards it I could see we were going to hit it, and assumed my dad would notice too. Apparently he didn’t, and with a crunch and a bump the car was suddenly up on two wheels and everyone seemed to shout “oh fuck” in unison. The car crashed back down to the ground, and we sat shaken for a few moments and assessed the damage. Happily, we were all fine, but when I went to get out of the car I found that I couldn’t as the chassis had bent under the hinge of my door, blocking it. I found it really quite funny, but my mum was furious.

It seems like I was away for a really long time, and there are several things I wanted to get done that I couldn’t while I was in Portugal – now I’m back, I’m going to set to work, and have already began trying to organise one project which should keep me occupied for the next few weeks, and perhaps longer. But more on that if it comes to anything.

In the mean time, I’ll carry on with this blog, and get back to writing one-a-day – though the sort of content I’ll be putting up may be a bit more varied from now on. Still one Review in Haiku everyday though!

Review in Haiku

Driven (Renny Harlin, 2001)

Stallone writes and stars,
Attempts to speak legibly
And fails on all counts

As I mentioned a couple of times in earlier posts, I’m off to Portugal with my family for the next two weeks. We head off in the early hours of tomorrow morning, so I’m going to just forget about going to bed tonight; will stay up, watch TV and chat to my brother instead.

At the moment my paretns are packing. I already packed. I’m pretty good with packing, I don’t usually forget anything too important and I get it done pretty quickly. Some people seem to spend ages doing it. Those people are idiots. Once you’ve worked out what you need and collected it all together, you just stick it all in your case in the most space-efficient order possible. And that’s it. How hard is that, you bloody numpty?

I’ve spent more time deciding what music to put on my mp3 player; that’s what I’ll have to listen to for the next 2 weeks after all, so I don’t want to leave something off and then find myself really wanting to listen to it in 5 days time. What a mistake-a to make-a! as Dermot O’Leary might say. If you pay him, naturally. Happily, I think I’m pretty sorted for music now. You’d certainly hope so after it took me over an hour to sort it out. I’ve got my priorities straight, alright.

The worst part of a holiday is going through the airport. It’s so bloody tedious, all that queuing, waiting in one area, walking for seeminly ages, waiting some more – bleurgh. I don’t mind the flight itself so much, despite the potential for fiery death. I tend to spend most flights trying to avoid thinking about crashes, but as soon as you think “I’d better not think about crashes” of course that’s all you can think about, so in fact I spend most flights pretending I’m not thinking about crashes, when actually I’m thinking of nothing else. The other thing I always find myself thinking is, on the taxi on the way to the airport, “I’ll be coming back home on this road before I know it”. And I’m right too, but it puts a bit of a downer on what should be the exciting end of the trip.

Hopefully I won’t lose anything, damage myself or find the house burgled when I get home. And hopefully I can avoid thinking about crashes all day, everyday until I get home in two weeks and don’t have to fly anymore. Hopefully.

……

With any luck, I’ll be back in two weeks and will post up the blogs I write while I’m away.

Review in Haiku

Cliffhanger (Renny Harlin, 1993)

High-altitude fun
As John Lithgow steals the show;
Say “damn you Walker!”

It’s my birthday in a little over a week, and I shall be 23 years old. It doesn’t seem right though. 23 year olds are older than I am, surely? I’m practically still a school boy, I can’t be heading briskly into my mid-twenties. There’s obviously been some mistake or miscalculation made somewhere along the line.

I like birthdays because you get given all the attention you secretly believe you deserve all year round, and you can just take it as if you deserve it; you don’t have to say “oh no, please, stop. You’re being too kind. There’s no need to make a fuss”. Instead you just say “Yes! Presents!!!” and get given fancy food and get more post than anybody else, for about 3 days either side of your birthday – it’s brilliant.

And then there’s birthday parties. For the last 2 years, I’ve been out of the country on my birthday, so I haven’t had a party with my friends. On my 21st, however, I had a good group of folks come to my house to celebrate. It was a pretty good crowd and everyone was feeling pretty happy; the booze flowed freely, and I really got pretty damn drunk – which is the idea, I suppose.

The main thing that sticks out from my 21st though, was the arm-wrestling match between myself and my friend James’s girlfriend, Alice. I don’t remember how this came about, but I can distinctly remember the small crowd that gathered around the dining room table to watch as Alice and I locked hands and prepared to do battle. I knew I had the crowd on my side – these were men, men like me, and it was my birthday and they wanted me to win. For men. But I didn’t. I lost. She is a very small girl.

It’s a funny story to remember now, and we all laugh when we remember it, but I’m pretty sure the feeling at the time was one of widespread shame on my behalf. The crowd quiety dispersed and collected in small pockets in dark corners, trying to forget the painfully pathetic exhibition of weediness they had just witnessed. It was awkward.

Last Christmas, or perhaps the Christmas before that, I was in a pub with my brother and a big group of his friends when this story came up. A girl who was there (and who was a little drunk) decided to test the validity of this story by challenging me to another arm-wrestle. I refused, arguing that I didn’t really want to relive the experience. But she wouldn’t drop it, and soon the whole group was listening in and watching expectantly to see if I would go for it. So, feeling the pressure, I did it. And I won.

Yeah! YEAH! I won! Women!! I beat one of you! You have no power over me now, I’m not afraid of you anymore. Because I can beat you, and I’ve proven it; I proved it to a small crowd of slightly tipsy people, and they were awestruck, alright? That’s probably why they didn’t say anything and just went back to their drinks and conversations. I will arm-wrestle any of you within an inch of your life. Except I don’t have to, because I already proved I can win. So don’t bother asking, please. Thanks.

Anyway, with any luck this year I won’t humiliate myself in any way, and can enjoy a peaceful birthday over in Portugal, sunning it up and relaxing by the pool. Of course, I’ll be wearing a shirt to hide my body the whole time in case anyone can see me. I hate myself.

Review in Haiku

Blade: Trinity (David S. Goyer, 2004)

“Let’s make this film good”
“Nah, too many films are good.
Get Ryan Reynolds”

There’s nothing I like more than sitting down and getting to work on making a compilation CD for someone. Well, actually there are definitely things I like a lot more than doing that, but I do enjoy it, nonetheless.

Some people will just stick songs onto a playlist willy-nilly and burn that to a CD, with no thought to composition or flow. This is abhorrent behaviour in my book. A compilation should be considered carefully at every stage and listened through to ensure the right tone carries throughout – especially if you’re making it for someone else. That’s just good manners. If you are one of these mix tape no-hopers, then worry not! For I have taken it upon myself to write a short guide to making the perfect compilation CD – you can thank me later.

The place to start is with a great opener, something which grabs your listener’s attention. You have to remember that generally people are pretty lazy and don’t like to branch out from what they know – your objective should be to get the right balance between things you know they’ll like and things you hope they’ll like.

So back to the opener; I normally go for something pretty upbeat, some soul or r’n'b is usually a pretty safe bet (proper r’n'b, not Akon or whatever shite they try and sell as r’n'b). So with track two, you want to keep them on-board and cement their confidence in your musical choices – that way you can sneak some more out-there stuff in later on! Get something a bit punchy in there early on; some rock and roll or a bit of metal if they’re into that.

I think the key to a successful compilation is to keep it pretty fluid. You should be able to move between styles, genres and tempos in a way that seems natural; if you have two songs next to each other that clash, you’ll ruin any tone you were trying to build up.

You might be thinking “I was trying to build any ‘tone’ you pretentious idiot, I’m just making a compilation CD”. Well, that’s why your compilation CD sucks, my friend. I’m not suggesting you should try and send a message with your compilation (unless that message is “check how great my taste is; sleep with me?”), I’m just saying that in the same way bands take time to decide on the order songs will appear on their albums, so you should take the time to order your compilation properly. If a song sounds odd in one track position, move it around and see if it will fit in somewhere else. If not, try another track by the same artist, or just save it for your next CD!

Because I am so incredibly geeky and anal, I always split any compilation I’m working on into two halves, each of about ten tracks each. The reason for this, apart from the aforementioned anal geekery (no snickering) is that it means you can focus on each half individually as if it was one CD, and make it as varied and interesting as you can all the way through – therefore escaping the common problem of latter-track-faltering, where the last few songs on an album are really just slapped on there to fill up free space and speed the process up. Consider track 20 in the same way you considered track 1; it should grab your listener’s attention all over again and set them up for the second half.

You should also make sure you spread your favourite tracks on the CD out so that they are not all bunched up at the very beginning; the chances are your recipient will like these songs the most too and won’t bother listening past them, missing out on anything they might like that features later on.

The most important rule of all – and I’m going to be strict on this people, so look out – is that you can never put two songs next to each other by the same artists. Ideally, any one artist shouldn’t turn up on one CD, but if they have to they should at least be kept 10 tracks apart. What’s the point of making a compilation if you’re just sticking songs by the same people on it? There is no point, you are exactly right.

I tend to end my compilations in a two-track combo: the penultimate track should be an absolute stonker – something with a great beat and heavy bass, which will get your intended listener glad they bothered to listen all the way through and force them to nod their head and tap their feet along with the music. Now you could just finish it there, but I always like to add a more laid-back track on just to wind everything down to a close – something folky and quiet, a nice, delicate love song, or some really chilled out electronica will suit perfectly to put a period on the end of your CD.

In the interest of demonstration, I made a compilation today. I can’t find any sites that will let me upload it as a whole for you to hear, and not all the songs are available on Spotify, but I’ll write the tracklist down here and if you can be bothered you can look the songs up and duplicate it for yourself. If you are the person who does bother to do that though, maybe take a moment to reassess your life?

1. Eddie Floyd – Things Get Better
2. De La Soul – Eye Know
3. Neutral Milk Hotel – In The Aeroplane Over the Sea
4. The Bird and The Bee – Polite Dance Song
5. The Isley Brothers – It’s Your Thing
6. Plumtree – Scott Pilgrim
7. Busdriver – Handfuls of Sky
8. Akron/Family – The River
9. 27 – Easy Trigger
10. The B-52′s – Follow Your Bliss
11. Sigur Rós – Glósóli
12. The Knife – Got 2 Let U
13. M Craft – Demons
14. Nightmares on Wax – Mission Venice
15. Guided by Voices – The Goldheart Mountaintop Queen Directory
16. Mew – Introducing Palace Players
17. Nick Cave and Warren Ellis – The Rider Song
18. Broken Social Scene – Cause = Time
19. Simian Mobile Disco – Pinball
20. Eels – Manchild

Obviously I’m not really that weird about how people make their compilations. It’s just that if you make them any other way they won’t be very good, you’ll look like an idiot and everyone will hate you. Especially me.

Review in Haiku

Domino (Tony Scott, 2005)

Don’t dislike Knightly,
But this film you think “shoot her,
“Get it over with”