A true testament to sibling love.

Although my sister is somewhat left out.

My brother's foot is the bottom one, attached to the considerably hairier leg. This was his 19th birthday present to me. A great one, i thought.

Man's a poor deluded bubble

I have been extraordinarily happy for the last couple of months. I mean that, nothing could have nudged me from my podium of jubilation. It all started getting a bit ridiculous when my reasoning for being consistently happy morphed into euphoria because of my constant elation.

Now, i'm not trying to show off here, not at all, i'm merely wondering why it was that i was so painfully happy for so long. Unfortunately, i haven't come up with an answer. I think it was mostly to do with being around the people i loved without any worries. My last coupld of months have definitely been lacking any sort of stress. Well, long-term stress.

But anyway, on a lighter note, my hair started falling out last night. Attempted to go from a fairly bronzy brunette to peroxide. It was never going to happen. It's fairly badly singed. I will be bald by christmas.

So i came here to say very little, but also that this has changed my life;

The Grinch.

Well well, it's that time again (No, i don't mean Christmas, i just mean Grinch time). That time where i bring out the Grinch and watch it with absolute glee from start to finish, and then repeat the process on a far-more-than-is-actually-healthy-esque regular basis. Not only is Jim Carrey exceptional in this but also Jeffrey Tambor of Arrested Development love (and perhaps fame?).
My love for this film has somewhat overwhelmed me, to the point where when someone compared me to the Grinch the other day, i hugged them with all my might and perhaps even got a bit teary eyed. But, who can say, it may have just been raining on my face.

Anyway, if you haven't watched this yet; watch it. If you have; watch it again, I can guarantee you will see some things that will make you laugh. Particularly pay attention when the grinch has drifted down in his own pombercellar at their 'Annual christmas party'. Juuuuust saying.

Juxtaposition.

Alcatraz and the Castro.

Unfortunately for me, they actually don't look too different.

They call me 'pseudo-journalist'

I feel i have somewhat neglected my blogging duty. (Not that i have a duty i'm not tooting my own horn. I meant duties to myself, both concentrative and disciplinary.) I like the lifestyle choices i make as a pseudo journalist. 

Some people i have spoken to about this whole world of blogging have laughed at me, or dismissed me as a little crazy, or self-absorbed. You know, one of those types who likes her own voice a bit too much. Well, i have been deliberating quite how self-centered i feel doing this blog. And the answer is; Very. Likewise on Twitter. I mean, do people really care what i am doing with every minute of my day? I would like to say of course, but i think that the real answer is the polar opposite; without a shadow of a doubt, they do not, and would only 'care' if i was a celebrity. (I know that isn't exactly the antithesis of 'of course' but i do try, you know?). Even then, one only follows celebrities through lack of imagination. They're handed to you on a plate, it's far too hard to search for people who are funny or other just by following link after link. 

Well, if i'm going to tell the honest truth (is there dishonest truth?) i have found myself doing just that - on twitter i follow celebrities even though half of them are more than dull. I just get caught up in things. And twitter being one of them. I have found no real use for it yet, not one. Not one blindingly obvious reason why everyone should have a twitter page. The only real reason i've kept mine is because i like the name i chose for it. I think it's a 'clever' name.

And yet, there is nowhere else where i could stumble over my words like this and tie myself up in little epistolary knots; a blog for the longer down the stairs type tumble. And then twitter; to engage the short attention span lyricist in me. I also rather enjoy reading other people's wordy work.

So there we have it. There's my explanation as to why i am here. I hope it made sense.

I say, I say, I say. (A morbid day)

This poem was written as a reply to Simon Armitage's "I say, I say, I say";

to press in, into my skin,

a little harder than before.

Perhaps it would react,

this time,

would do a little more.

There was a whole other section to it, but it became stale, so that is all that remains.

Vanity and the lone traveller

I think i am allowed to say that there is nothing quite as dismal as travelling alone. This is because i am a bonafide 'lone ranger'. I mean there are perks, and obvious ones include meeting more people, not being lassoed down by anyone you love, and other such normal and decidedly blatant upsides. However, it isn't for me.

Undoubtedly, many will disagree with me, saying "it's the only way to travel". So, in order to dissipate their argument, i am  going to provide proof. This proof is solely for all the lone doubters out there, or those of you who went travelling with friends and got a bit fed up of them at one point but never truly separated, you just slept apart for a couple of days (well, for a start that doesn't count, but you might think it did, it doesn't. No, i'm not bitter, just honest. But you can take it, you're a big boy.). 

Below there are three of my most wretched photographs from travelling on my own; all of which perfectly illustrate the art of taking photos of yourself with beautiful backgrounds. But that isn't the catastrophe. Not nearly as much as the fact that, even though i was often alone at these beautiful sights, (in these three photos i was, in fact, alone all day on all accounts) i have still insisted upon looking like i was having the time of my life. It's painfully obvious that the third one was towards the end of my trip, when the poses were wearing a little thin.

Here they are, the tragic photos, with varying degrees of false excitement:

   

See what i mean? Tragic.

Someday, I'll get to Sasquatch

It's been about three years now that i have looked at the line up for the Sasquatch festival and pined to be there drooling over the artists in all their glory. So, because of this, i have decided that, at some point, i am going to venture to Seattle. This not only means i can go to Sasquatch festival, but also visit my godparents, and a couple of friends that live there.

I worked that out just then, so the plan is miraculously falling into place. lovely jubley.

This year has some mouth-watering music morsels, to say the least. Here are but a small number of those playing who have made my insides go all funny at one point or another;

Kings Of Leon

Decemberists

Animal Collective

Yeah Yeah Yeahs

DeVotchka

M. Ward

Bon Iver

Sun Kil Moon

Owl City

Dent May & His Magnificent Ukulele

(that's only the first day)

Nine Inch Nails

TV On the Radio

of Montreal

The Dodos

Natalie Portman's Shaved Head (Never heard the stuff until i saw the name, which made me laugh, and also think of someone in love with her, shaved head and all)

Erykah Badu

Grizzly Bear

Fleet Foxes

Ben Harper

Santigold

I think that's enough for now. Just. 

Where the wild things will be

I don't know if i can quite express my excitement at the prospect of this film. There was a point at which rumours were flying that it wouldn't be released due to lack of funding. Glad to see that changed. Apparently Forest Whitaker  is doing the voice of 'Ira'. Should prove to be lovely.

Photographic evidence.

Of just how beautiful friends can be. (With the right lighting). 

Of me feeling Jude Quinn esque. I felt it, i really did. 

It's amazing what can come from walking the dogs.

Nausea/Fever. I used to enjoy sleep.

I used to enjoy sleep, now i am hiding from it. Not under the layers of the feathers as i used to, when i feared real monsters, but under the pseudonym of an insomniac. And there, or rather, here, i take my refuge.

The creativity starts at midnight, when my eyesight starts to blur and the things i ramble more resembled the scribbles of a young Nicole Diver. ("I've thought a lot about moonlight too". Lunar. Lunacy. Finally onto something.) Perhaps the inhibitions are lost. Perhaps i should test the polyphasic sleep patterns someone once told me to try. No need to alter the mind, merely the surroundings greeting it. The fact that the world was still each time when he awoke meant minimal distraction from the task at hand; the abstraction. Or rather, the liberation from the constraints of conscious thoughts and speech. They don't mind if you talk to yourself, just as long as they don't hear it. But that, more strictly, and more generally speaking, is a terrible starting point. Muttering through tainted lips; 'As long as they are blind, it will not hurt them.' 

I fear that i have rather proved my point. Through my wearied eyes this seems to be just a creative splurge. Through the newly bleared eyes of the morning it will seem diluted. 

"I've thought a lot about moonlight too".