My Dirty Iron and other musings

Being the cool cat that I am, on Monday night, I had a date with my iron.  I'm not going to lie, I have a dirty iron.  It's filthy.  It's just one of the many curses I have left over from an old relationship.  This relationship didn't run a smooth course and the ending was similarly tumultuous.  The last time I saw the lady in question, she was packaging and taking her things from our shared apartment in Manchester.  She packed in silence, which was fine by me.  Her packing was just as messy as how she lived.  After a tense 45 minutes, she picked up the last box and headed to the door.  That's when it happened.  She turned sharply (and most fetchingly, I must say), rested her box on her hip and opened her mouth.  Out it came; a torrent of insults, profanity and most importantly curses.  One of the more imaginative ones she came out with was stuck between a descriptive fiction of what I should do when she left and then a direct comparison of me and her new lover.

"And may your iron be filthy!"

And so it was.  I've got to say it was quite a shock the next time I used it.  It was a Sunday and I was sprucing up a shirt for work the next day.  As is usually the case after a break up, I had stuck Swingers into the DVD player.  All was normal.  I was chuckling at all the right points, getting through the shirts a bit quicker than usual, but nothing abnormal.  Then it happened.  There's a point in the film about 20-25 minutes in where Vince Vaughn and Jon Favreau meet these two ladies in a bar.  They are two very pretty ladies, one of them is dressed like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz.  So, I'm standing there, ironing, and then I hear it.

"Nice cans toots!"

At first I was too busy ironing to really acknowledge anything.  To be fair, I was on a roll.  One and a half shirts done in 20 minutes?  Unheard of.  In the zone.

"Oh what a world, what a world.  I'd like to show her my horse of a different colour, if you catch my drift."

I think that one got my attention just because of how baffling it was.  Really?  A horse of a different colour as a dick substitute?  So yeah, I was a bit concerned.  I put the iron to one side and went to investigate the house.  As soon as I left the room, another comment was made.  No Wizard of Oz puns this time, just utterances of things being stuck in places with a few f'bombs dropped for good measure.  I turned sharply, I stared down the iron, which remained silent.  I sighed.  Obviously the stresses of life had got to me.  I turned to head towards the couch.

"Yeah, keep walking pussy."

And it was at this point that I realised that my iron was filthy.

This was a shocking and troubling revelation.  What would the neighbours think?  I was having a dinner party on Saturday with friends from the gallery, what would they think?  Sure, it was kitschsy and they would love that, but I was trying to make my name with gorgeous landscapes, not pop art.  I did the only thing I could.  I threw it out of the window into a conveniently placed bin.

After a couple of weeks, the crumpled shirts were starting to pile up.  I popped to the store, came back home with a new iron (and a couple of fuses, plug adapters, balsa wood, a small zebra and four hot dogs, but I digress).  All was well at least for the first two shirts, then the insults started.

"Hey choirboy, what the fuck do you call that?"

"Way to wreck a shirt retard.  I wouldn't dress my cat in that!"

Damn, it got annoying.  I tried everything short of washing its mouth out with soap (yeah, irons don't have mouths, but I did scrub its sole pretty hard).  I eventually learnt to deal with it.  He's a good friend to watch shitty movies and sports with and when I moved abroad a couple of years ago, it was nice to have at least one constant with me.  Hell, there are worse curses I could have.  I knew a guy from Buffalo, real nice guy, worked with him on a couple of jobs.  He was cursed.  He hiccuped (and loudly too I might add) anytime anyone in his vicinity said "blackberry".  Wasn't too bad a few years ago, but man, is it making his life hell in the office these days.

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Other musings

Yes, I didn't have anything interesting to talk about, so I made up stuff.  Happy?  You drove me to it!  Like I know anything about ironing!

Last month was the most popular month for hits.  We've all done very well this month.  Let's keep up the effort and there may be bonuses discussed at the end of December.

Christmas Party tonight.  I will be in a tux.  This makes me happy.

The Fabio Memorial Cup, a movie marathon and other musings

A lot of people don't know this, but I used to race cars.  Mostly small time, local events involving banged up Ladas and banged up trees.  I never made it to the show, but I did get close once.  The year was 1972, I remember it vaguely.  I was in the library, enjoying a pint of vermouth (as was the fashion of the time).  I was reading The Joys of Sex and was partaking in the joys of making eyes at the librarian.  She was making eyes back, but they weren't nearly as friendly as mine.  It was as I was feeling a bit dejected that a man in overalls and a crash helmet ran in, followed by four more in overalls.  The first man took off his helmet, threw it at the other men and then dove into the non-fiction crime section.  I looked concerned, but the librarian had it covered.  She pulled her shotgun from under the desk and unloaded it into the ceiling.  Everyone froze, except the chased man who scurried up the shelves and out through a clerestory window.

"See here old fruits, what on earth do you think is going on here?!"  Christ, her tone was as sharp and authoritarian as her eyes.  I was smitten.

The group surrounding the crime non-fiction shelf looked sheepish.  All it took was a suggestive motion of the librarian's chin and one of them stood forward.  Not of his own accord of course, who'd want to face that fury?  No, he was pushed by his three colleagues.

He explained that the man who escaped through the window was the soon to be great Juan Alessandro Galilei. I'd heard of him.  He was a driver with great potential.  Just a bit gutless apparently.  Turns out that the American brute Dan Galloway was listed to race in the Fabio Memorial Cup race.  Old Dan was a man with no potential, but he did have the habit of using his car as a battering ram and Juan had made some choice words about Dan's old lady.  So now they were down on racing driver.  I may have coolly and collectedly modestly mentioned my experience, or I may have jumped up on the table and shouted "Me! Me! I race real good!  I make the people go behind me!".  Yeah, choose your own adventure folks.

Next think I know, I'm slammed down into some pointy looking open wheel car.  The expectation was gigantic.  The whole garage of mechanics gave me a pep talk simultaneously.  It was deafening.  I made my way to the grid.  I was right next to Dan Galloway.  I was wearing Juan's helmet.  Suddenly I questioned why I volunteered for this.  I looked to my right.  Dan made a cut throat sign.  I gulped.  The lights were beginning to change.  Dan had his steering wheel locked left.  I did the only thing that made sense.  When the lights came on, I stuck the car into reverse.  Dan went straight into another driver.  Red flags.  Race cancelled.  A personal success I feel.

The mechanics weren't too sore about it.  They let me keep the car, which came in handy 39 years later when I decided to see 5 films in one weekend.  Time was of the essence, so those top speeds came in handy.  I managed to see them all and here's how they lined up (in chronological order):

1) 50/50 - Seth Rogen and Joe Gordon-Levitt in Jonathan Levine's "based on true events" cancer comedy.  This is a damn solid movie.  I'm not going to lie, it's a bit close to home, but fortunately all the tears in this film were incredibly well earned - none felt exploitative (well, except the use of Liars' The Other Side of Mt Heart Attack - one of my favourite melancholic songs ever).  Mr Gordon-Levitt is always a god send and it was nice to see Seth Rogen in a well judged side kick role again (versatility isn't his strong point, but he's on form here).  In fact, it's hard to say anything bad at all about the casting.  In addition, Will Reiser's script is the right parts hilarious and sombre.

2) My Week With Marilyn - Wow, what a wreck.  Beyond the costumes, everything disappoints, even Michelle Williams (though she is the highlight of the film).  It is completely beyond me why anyone is speaking about this film when Me & Orson Welles was criminally ignored.  Eddie Redmayne plays a character who, in an opening narration, tells us that he loves film and really wants to work in cinema and production.  He then proceeds to get a job (oh, isn't it nice to be rich and have connections) and every action he commits after this can only lead to the conclusion that he doesn't love film at all.  He comes across as a fickle and completely infuriating person, which isn't a problem, except that the film carries on presenting him as a naive and sensitive human being.  He is neither, he's just an idiot.

3) Moneyball - I've been looking forward to this so long!  It didn't disappoint.  Well, I say that.  It didn't hit it out of the park (get it? It's baseball innit!) but I was so impressed.  A very well constructed movie (nice use of both real footage and ultra stylised slow-mo).  I appreciate the approach of the film in regards the acting and how it mimics the subject matter (Jonah Hill being serious?  Scott Hatteberg on first?).  What was odd was that this is the first time since 13 Assassins that I was sitting in a near full cinema.  Baseball film?  In the UK?  Full house?  Definitely kept the crowd entertained though.

4) Take Shelter - God damn, I fell in love with that family unit.  I didn't want anything bad to happen to them.  In fact, so much so that I'll believe Filmspotting's tad reaching interpretation of the ending, just because it makes things more nice for them.  The trio of Michael Shannon, Jessica Chastain (wow, it's been like a whole two weeks since we saw her, where have you been?) and Tova Stewart (the little girl) are incredible, and fortunately so, as they are the movie.  Such an incredibly tense and claustrophobic story.

5) The Deep Blue Sea - Nice way to finish this marathon, a fun bit of melodrama.  I was a tad worried at the start (the editing was suspect during the first twenty minutes), but it picked up and was quite enjoyable for the rest.  Some entertaining lines, some not so great lines.  Some good outfits, some not so good music cues.  After seeing this and Flare Path earlier in the year, I'm definitely enticed to find out more about Terence Rattigan.

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Other Musings:

I'm currently eating Milk Duds with a nice hot coffee.  This combo is okay in my book.

Christmas party on Friday.  I really need to remember to iron my shirt.  I'm quite excited, if only for the fact that my tux makes me look like I should be on set for the Artist, being silent and tap dancing.

http://hw.libsyn.com/p/4/2/a/42a2e01cfd3cb3a9/fs368_bonus.mp3?sid=c1dba473f227fd81d9e9d6c228a6220b&l_sid=17938&l_eid&l_mid=2744370&expiration=1322433067&hwt=60d90b5633db77a08747a8e4fb0dbe8b - is the link for that Filmspotting Take Shelter ending opinion.  Definite spoilers.


I'm not even filmed out yet.  Tomorrow has some Berlin Alexanderplatz and Road to Perdition lined up.


Awesome jogging/exercise/mediation planned for tomorrow!

Pseudo-fiction, a comparison and other musings

Now, my memory might be hazy, but the rain that was threatening the evening as I arrived had definitely parted ways with the West End by the time I left.   I wasn't planning on sticking around either.  The night had definitely gone on too long.  I'm not sure when this realisation dawned on me.  Was it between the fourth and fifth innings of Manhattans?  Or perhaps when I was on the small stage singing 'Hotel California' with a gang of fetching transvestites.  Regardless, there definitely came a point when I could see four cocktails in front of my at the bar, which is odd because I usually order them by the pair.

I climbed up the stairs, emerging from the dank cocktail bar into the fresh London air.  It had gone one in the morning, and not being in complete control of my faculties, a brisk walk seemed on the cards.  That was until I came across a bike.  £1.00 of my money for an hours worth of time!  What great value it would have been had I not got lost.  The problem with all transports quicker than feet is that one can travel so far in completely the wrong direction.  As stated previously, my faculties were not currently in my possession, so it took an hour for me to be able to admit how unfamiliar my surroundings were.  It was true revelatory experience.  I felt like a better man.

All this led to one conclusion; I'd have to find the nearest telephone box and call my solicitor.  I was sure that at 2am, she would love to hear that I couldn't make our appointment at noon.  Shame too, she had a wit that exceeded her fine legs.  That's when it hit me, I found a safety net.  An incredibly fortuitous prostitute had put a map on her call-up card.  I found my way to the main road, ditched the bike and walked for 4 hours.  I put my keys into the door, tore my boots off and ran upstairs to start a blog post comparing my recent experiences watching the Rum Diary to my recent experiences watching Chico & Rita.

Both are films, both feature sharp suits and sharper tunes, however, one of them is a fair more successful film than the other.  Let's get rid of the suspense, the Rum Diary, although not disinteresting, is definitely the more dispassionate affair, which is odd considering the close relationship Johnny Depp had with Hunter S. Thompson.  It's a very polished and professional piece, but strangely distant.  There are fantastic performances throughout, but Mr Depp's Paul Kemp is always at an arm's distance and for no great reason. It's almost as if Mr Depp holds Hunter S. Thompson with such regard that his performance brings a stately disposition to his friend, but little of the wit and humour that was evident in his writings.

On the other hand, I can't say enough pleasant things about Chico & Rita.  A truly heart warming romance that, while possessing a few plot points that don't completely satisfy, is a completely breathtaking visual and audio experience.  As has been discussed previously on the blog, I am a complete sucker for most period pieces set between the 20s and 60s.  Hats man, people looked better in hats.  Anyway, I was completely drawn into the world presented by Javier Mariscal.  I would kill to have any of the frames of this movie on my wall.

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Other musings:

Not all of what I wrote above is true, but I certainly did have a time getting back from a cocktail bar on Tuesday night.  My legs and back have seized up so I will make sure to do some stretches before bed tonight.

I'm thinking about getting dental insurance.  I can't decide how this makes me feel.

I have an incredible weekend of film lined up this weekend.  50/50 on Friday and then My Week With Marilyn, Deep Blue Sea, Moneyball (finally!) and one that escapes my mind right now.  Butt-numb-athon 2011.  Take Shelter!  That's the last one!

I love the Twilight Zone and Rod Serling.  Still watching Season 3, just got through some gems including It's A Good Life.  Horrible sound effect in that one.

Oh my God, that's the funky stuff and other musings

Words cannot describe how tired I am right now.  This fact is a surprise to me, because I've no reasonable reason to be be this tired!  Such a reason does not exist right now!  Plus I've got very annoying tingly sensation under my left eye.  Yes, it would be fair to say right now that I'm feeling a bit cranky.

I've just worked for 3 hours on a follow up to the totally top secret, not at all guessable project I have going on with Mr Jonathan Hatfull (plug: http://jonathanwriting.blogspot.com/).  It may or may not involve creative writing of some sort.  It may or may not involve reviving an old project of mine.  Anyway, about 2 hours in, I had suitably dissected what I had about two years ago and then it hits me.  I don't think I have an imagination anymore.  Seriously, ask me to think of a shape, it'd be a circle.  Ask me to think of a colour, it'd be grey.  Ask me to think of a dinosaur, it'd be the one working on reception at my first job.

There are many things that I don't have a talent for, but why is it that film grabs me so much?  Oh Lord knows, this isn't therapy.  I'll soldier on regardless.  This post is a lot like my doodles though, aimless, no moral.

Exciting things on the horizon for me then: carry on with this writing, starting Berlin Alexanderplatz, sleeping. The rest of the evening will involve dishes and the cleaning of, a bit of light exercise, reading (Vanity Fair, because I'm classy) and sleeping.  Don't let me fool you into thinking I sleep lots, I would be able to write a much better blog post had I slept properly.

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Other Musings:

As I've been writing this, I've been eating dinner (fish, chips and beans). I've just realised that I've eaten most of my chips and beans and have left the fish completely untouched.  Fail.

Sid Crosby returns on Monday night.  I hope he's been taking this time to cultivate a true stunt man's moustache.

I've been rewatching the League of Gentlemen while I exercise recently.  Odd, I know.  I am so glad the laugh track was reduced between the first and second series.  That is one show that, although hilarious, really doesn't suit a laugh track.

The fun one can having being Batman and other musings

So what's new? Not much. Not much at all actually. Since the last time we spoke, I've visited Carlisle, Billinghurst and Manchester on three consecutive weekends. The first was with my brother and my mum. Sam, my bro, is up there on a placement from his medical school. This involved visited a number of small towns in the rain, walking a fair bit and a couple of cinema trips (Anonymous and Midnight in Paris (yes, again)). Middle weekend was spent with Messrs Hatfull and Langridge re-watching our old Europe Road Trip video footage and planning a new trip. The final weekend involved visiting Dr. Iain McGibbon in his new flat and enjoying the fine music of St. Vincent live and in person.

So those were the events. Superfluous to these, I've manage to lose my winter coat and gloves, leaving me with only a scarf to battle the elements. I have also picked up a computer monitor, so I think that would be described as a net win overall. Honestly, I always make comments like "oh, I'm going to write this...", but my productivity is rather lacking. I worry about this more now that I have an amazing home entertainment package hooked up in the corner of my room. In fact, it is so amazing, that I think it needs a name. I think I shall call it Lindros 3000. The 3000 is because it's cool. The Lindros is because, after prolonged playing time, headaches will ensue (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eric_Lindros). Actually, I feel bad about that. Sorry about the cheap shot Eric!

Oh well, that's enough fluff, let's get to something comment worthy. When I haven't been travelling or at work over the last three weeks, I've been playing Batman: Arkham City. My goodness, that's a very pretty game. Unfortunately, it hits an issue that I have with so many video games - plotting. Arkham Asylum was a rarity in so much as it provided a well thought out and, more importantly, satisfying narrative. This isn't to say that I don't like Arkham City (in fact, beyond my love of NHL 12, it's definitely my favourite game for a long time). I would highly recommend this game in a heartbeat, but my goodness, I wish that a video game would one day succeed in its aims for some form of cinematic denounment. Obviously Arkham City isn't alone here, GTA IV is definitely a big offender here as well. I worry about video games like these. By appropriating so much from cinematic language, are the games designers limiting their own work? I assume a lot of my issues are caught in the essence of an immesive game. If a character as avatar represents you, what happens when they act in a manner that you yourself would never do (I'm looking at you, L.A. Noire!)? 

Let's sum it up. I hold the belief that games appropriating cinematic language adds to the experience for the majority of the game, but fails when any sort of moral choice is presented or if the conclusion doesn't work:

Arkham City: I've not seen an ending so overwrought with angst since David Tennant left Doctor Who.
Dead Space 2: Fails as soon as Isaac opens his mouth.
GTA IV: After parodying a number of films and TV shows, asking for an emotional response to a rushed ending is asking way too much, especially given the suddenly morality of the so far immoral Niko Belak.
Heavy Rain: The biggest problem here is that the plot doesn't tie up, way too many loose ends. Considering this is a glorified animated movie, that's a big problem. Bitching soundtrack though.
L.A. Noire: To be fair to it, Pop Matters ran an incredible article about why the plotting work for them and from a intellectual level I can agree with what they're saying. Unfortunately, emotionally it did nothing for me. Is that a problem?
NHL 12: Winning the Stanley Cup never feels as good as I hoped.

 If there's one thing Arkham City really does well, it really makes me feel terrible about my figure and my lack of tree trunks for arms.

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Other musings

Paloma Faith v Miranda July was a very enjoyable twitter interview. More please!

Is everyone who writes in to Vanity Fair just pitching for their own articles? Certainly reads that way.

Single again, oorah.

The Holiday Inn in Kensington is rather pleasant. Nothing special, but pleasant.

That PopMatters article can be found here: http://www.popmatters.com/pm/post/145319-unplugging-the-player-from-the-protagonist

Cornerhouse in Manchester does one hell of a nice cocktail. If you go, order the Maple Manhattan and tell them Ben sent you there. When they look confused, just nod. Things will work out.

Seeing Midnight in Paris twice was incredibly enjoyable if only to see how different the two audiences reacted. In Cumbria, they didn't find Hemmingway funny at all. In fact the first audience was way better, if only for the fact they didn't have a walking Cliff Notes explaining all the jokes to her friend very loudly in the back row.

Other potential names for my speakers, monitor, PS3 combo; Hal Brooklyn, Stilton Joe, Freddy Quebec, Mr 2010, the Future, the American Dream. All would be good names for wrestlers.

Hoping that everyone at OWS is ok. Regardless of your political beliefs, we are all on the same page that police operations against its own citizens whilst a media blackout is in operation is a bit worrying?