Saturday, 30 January 2010

Mark Kermode's face...

Can you handle it?

Sunday, 24 January 2010

Starting a workshop thingy in the art department Tuesday evening. Not exactly sure what's expected of me but, as I understand it, I've just got to be be around. Heh, so I can drift around talking to students about what they're doing & trying to offer some kind of advice and all that. It's all very informal, so I guess it's just a case of winging it. I think I'll be ok. But then I would say that, wouldn't I... I mean, if I really thought about it, I'd probably go to pieces. Sometimes I feel I can see the line between ok and definitely not ok and how easy it would be to just fall over it. But anyway, that's something else entirely, and 'ok' and 'definitely not ok' really aren't what I mean at all. But enough of that. I said yes to it as I figured it can only help me in the long run if I do have any plans on teaching. Nice little bit of experience for the CV. Plus I was quite flattered to be asked too, not that I should read too much into that. I mean, there was nobody else... but, anyway, the real clincher was that, by saying yes, I would be ensuring myself what every technician before me has longed for; a legitimate excuse for missing the notoriously long (and notoriously dull) faculty meetings that come round but once a month yet seem to last an entire month. Heh.

We were on a trip to the British Museum last Monday to see a show they've currently got going down in the print room, stuff from the Mexican revolution. Some amazing woodcuts. Anyway, on the way out we took the group into the Egyptian room. Now I don't know much about ancient Egypt at all, but even I could feel the extraordinary presence that radiates from that shit. I had me a little wander around, looking at old bits of wood, old bits of metal and some old bones. I couldn't help but feel amused by the juxtaposition of these extremely delicate and surprisingly small mummified corpses, with all their intoxicating power and silent grace, and the groups of teenage girls giggling and taking photos of each other in front of them for their facebook page. You wonder just what the Egyptians would make of it. Heh. Not that I care in the slightest. I don't think that's a bad thing at all, just funny. That idea of taking photos of each other with what is essentially a dead body in the background. It's probably one of the only scenarios where it is socially acceptable to do that... much in the same way that it's only socially acceptable to say 'hello' to people you don't know now when you're on holiday.

Friday, 22 January 2010

So I was thinking to myself...

The zany comedian Russell Howard, or an aggressive form of pancreatic cancer?

Hmm, yeah, interesting... but I think I'll take the aggressive form of pancreatic cancer please.

Tuesday, 12 January 2010

Had to catch the college bus to work and back yesterday. It was a bit of a nightmare, firstly I had to run out into the road like a lunatic just to flag it down. The driver asked me what I thought I was doing. Heh... I thought it was kinda obvious. He wasn't best pleased. I couldn't help it though, I had no idea what I was looking for or anything. They're unmarked coaches, no signage whatsoever, you see, so you just have to gamble. I don't have a clue what I would have done if I'd stopped the wrong coach. Heh... that would've made a pretty interesting blog. When it comes to buses and all things remotely bus-like I'm pretty inexperienced... (incidentally it's with great pride I write that today, at the age of 24, I made my first ever unaccompanied bus journey on a proper bus. Mum will be pleased, I must tell her.) Anyway, there were already two proper Arriva buses filling the whole of the stop when the coach appeared on the horizon. I knew it was going to be difficult, so I started waving frantically at an early stage. Maybe the driver was a little confused by it. He didn't seem to be slowing down much. So I had to combine the frantic waving with a little jump into the road. Luckily he stopped and I clawed at the door like an idiot for about 10 seconds like I was getting into a Ford Fiesta or something. I don't know what I was thinking. When I did finally manage to get on board I made another error in choosing to sit within speaking distance of the driver. I won't be doing that again in a hurry. There must be an unmarked zone or something, no wonder I missed it. Now I've got a theory on this... and I think it only really applies to coaches, and it's that there's this variable zone near the driver, and anybody who dares to sit within this zone has to engage in conversation with the driver. Thankfully it was a typical conversation from my perspective and I dealt with it in the usual way... he asked a couple of questions, I gave a couple of very poor monosyllabic answers and then it died out.

I decided not to catch the bus home. I came out of the main entrance of the college to find a massive crowd of students throwing snowballs around. Only they weren't snowballs. They were big fuck off lumps of ice. There must've been well over a hundred of them and everywhere you looked there were huge balls of congealed snow raining down. It wasn't that funny... maybe it's just a sign of my ageing but I couldn't help feeling how dangerous it was and all that. One girl took a hit right on the face. This ball came down from a great height and smacked her in the side of the head. She hit the ground but immediately got back up and laughed nervously with her friends. It clearly hurt her, maybe I shouldn't have thrown it.

Ha. I didn't throw it, that was a joke.

After ten minutes of wandering around and trying to dodge the ice missiles whilst simultaneously projecting the image that I was absolutely not shit-scared of being floored by a snowball in front of the students, I decided that I couldn't be bothered with this shit and went back inside the building. Before I did I noticed a member of staff from the sports department had appeared with the absurd idea that he could calm the students down and stop all the madness simply by catching or punching as many of the snowballs out of the sky as he possibly could. I watched him stroll through the crowd thrusting his arm into the air and turning each ball into a slushy shadow of its former self. It was a pretty magnificent display. Heroic.

Sunday, 10 January 2010

Ordered Spoon tickets today.





Now I just gotta try and convince somebody (anybody) to go along with me.


Saturday, 9 January 2010

Was supposed to go to a barn dance this evening but wimped out of it using the weather as an excuse. I feel quite bad in the sense that I, and a few others, were invited to this thing and said we'd go... and now some of us aren't... but, really, the weather is quite a problem. I know roads are generally okay but, even a tiny risk that we might get stuck on any icy back road in Wickford at midnight is enough of a risk for me. Stranded in Wickford for a night... I mean, you'd need to be made of sterner stuff than I to survive that.

I got some new shoes today. They're utterly shite. Cheapo brown suede things. Not really shoes actually, more like trainers. I think they may even be sneakers. Pretty certain they're not loafers. I'm no good at identifying type of shoe. It's hard to tell where the lines are drawn. It's like breeds of dog... they all fundamentally look like dog. You know, I'm taking in the differences but I'm just getting dog. So, yeah, I'd seen these shoes ages ago in the Stead & Simpson and felt myself being drawn towards them. They seemed pleasant & understated - two of the qualities I've always looked for in footwear. I knew that they were essentially a crap example of the medium but I couldn't get them out of my head. Everywhere I went afterwards in my search for a solid shoe I'd find myself comparing these new, decent-looking shoes I was browsing with those awful, awful, awful things I'd seen in the Stead & Simpson that day but couldn't get because they only had a 6 or an 8. That was frustrating. Anyway, today I strolled back in there on the off-chance - after being dealt a similar blow in the Clarks - and asked again if they had them in a 9. I fully expected to be confronted with bad news again but, to genuine surprise, the lady came back clutching the most beautifully crafted white cardboard box. I snatched them up there and then. Didn't even need to try them on. Intuition. Gonna go back soon, maybe tomorrow, and buy another 2 or 3 pairs. I'd like to have a supply of them to last me the decade. Amusingly, they're called the Beckett Federer.