Festive film #4: Christmas Cupid

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With the same high gloss aesthetics as Hello magazine, Christmas Cupid bulldozes through exposition and punchlines like there was no tomorrow. If you can make it past the successful alpha lead insinuating she is dating her boss for career progression, you will finally have an answer for that question which has been keeping you up at night; what ever happen to Chad Michael Murry’s career?

The one saving grace of this film is that it does not take itself too seriously. Sloan is haunted by her very on Jacob Marley Barbie.  Besides I always though that Dickens needed more martinis and hair extensions. Loosely based upon A Christmas Carol, the story follows an uptight PR agent as she is haunted through the festive season by the client she is attempting to plan a memorial service for. Eventually she is nagged and badgered by her three ex-boyfriends into living with a better work/life balance. Thanks Hollywood, I’ll never work late again!

While it is very easy to believe Ashley Benson as the loose moraled party brat, it is somewhat hard to choke down that Murray could ever be a doctor.

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Festive film #3: Die Hard

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Perhaps the manliness festive film going. I challenge anyone to watch Die Hard and not feel a fuzzy sense of nostalgia. Remember the days where the terrorist narrative was confined to rich Germans played by English actors? Back when every henchman had time to get a proper blowout before showing up for evil doings? When cops had time to deliver witty one liners while taking one an entire building of nefarious nerdowells? and be welcomed by the police force as a hero rather than a vigilante? Well look no further. For a mere 90 mins of your time, you  too can bear witness to feats of barefooted bravery.

And what is the season moral of this little tale? Don’t mess with Bruce Willis, motherfucker

Cringleometre: 7.5

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Festive Film #2: Santa’s Summer House

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I’ll be honest, I did not go into today’s viewing with high hopes, which was probably for the best. If I had I would have been as disappointed as that time I got shampoo as a stocking filler.

The opening credits alone will clue you in that this is not a film with large monetary backing, nor has it made the most of what it did have.  The graphics suck the Christmas joy out of the room faster than a drunk uncle telling you some unanticipated ‘home truths’.

The story follows a group of holiday makers who fatefully end up at Santa’s Summer House where they will learn the error of their ways. With the help of a slimed down, shaved and suntanned Santa and Mrs. Claus, they strike that healthy balance between work and family life.

The laughter during the overly long family croquet scene is as contrived as the plot and inevitable moral realisation.  The sun withered grass, as dried up as these poor actors careers.  In the end I had to change over to Jerry Springer to get some genuine emotion.

Cringlometre: 1/10 Baubels, and only because it is the season of charity.

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Festive Film #1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone

In a bid to beat the blues and prepare myself mentally for festive season I have decided to watch one christmas film a day.

Now many of you might be thinking does Harry Potter count? Well yes, because you don’t think I would enter into this kind of commitment without laying down some ground rules, do you?

Rule 1: Christmas has to feature in the film

Okay so less rules and more rule.  Once it has been viewed I will re-view it (get it?) here in order to track down and discover that elusive Christmas spirit.

So, Harry Potter:

In the way you can’t really judge what it was like to be 6, I find it really hard to objectively review Harry Potter, particularly the first film as it brings back all those warm fuzzier associated with childhood.  For me this was the first book where I could actually picture what was happening in my head, and the film took those pictures and put them on the screen.  Watching man-child Daniel Radcliffe when he was just child is also thoroughly amusing.

Cringlometre rating: 8/10 baubles.

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Reasons to cultivate an anti-social attitude.

“You are who you are when nobody’s watching” — Stephen Fry

 

So we have all heard the argument for having friends. School will be more fun, work will be easier, no man is an island, blah, blahbitty, blah. But what about the much underrepresented isolationist paradigm?

While not as popular (for obvious and appropriate reasons) there are many reasons to seek ones own company. Many a wise loner has already put forth better arguments than I, so I have bastardised some of these arguments into this handy list, without sharing any of the credit.  Which leads me nicely into my first point:

  1. You don’t ever have to share.  Let’s be honest, if it came naturally, children wouldn’t have to be taught to do it.  In many ways it is far more natural to be selfish, and when you only have to worry about yourself, this can happen in a guilt free.
  2. Blogger, know thyself.  In line with ancient Delphinus wisdom, there is no replacement better then true oneness, especially when you are the one! Take some of that time you would normally spend making small talk with aqua intended and have a deep conversation with he most interesting person you know.  Try it and you may be surprised what you learn!
  3. Naked dinner.  Clothes are fine and all, but really they are for public.  It doesn’t have to be a candle lit dinner, or even a meal, any previously mundane activity can be spiced up with nudity.  Free your inner child and strip off those shackles of conformity.  Feel the freedom of the empty house caress the epidermis, and be honest there’s only one thing better than walking around the house naked without fear of recrimination…
  4. And that is peeing with the door open.  Do I need to explain this?  If I do, you obviously haven’t tried it.
  5. You can let your imagination run free.  Turn your sofa into your best friend, and one that won’t talk back if you don’t want it to. Turn the newspaper into a hat, you will be the most stylish person in the room.  The world is your oyster, or magical crab monster, or whatever.
  6. Increase in productivity.  By channelling all the energy you were previously devoting to being socially acceptable, you can now accomplish all those tasks which have previously been ignore.  Put up some shelves.  Iron you shirts for next week.  Train the pet of your preference to perform a soulful and heart reaching rendition of Cher’s greatest hits.  The world is your oyster.
  7. You are never alone. If all this time with the voices in your head has left you more anxious than ever, you can seek out other likeminded loners on blogs or forums, with the invention of the Internet, alone time has never been so full of other people’s opinions.

 

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Trains, poetry and nachos

So I have recently found myself travelling for work, which is equal parts exhausting and fun.  The exhausting part is standing on platforms in the cold and squishing into crowded carriages. The fun part is suddenly having time to doodle, read and scribble again, and of course, being on trains.  I love trains.  I wonder if I asked nicely enough if they would let me drive the train.

Public safety aside, here is my latest commit scribble, a comuscrib if you will. Please ignore the embittered nature of the early morning inner voice.

Wate Of Space

Everyone’s wasted, the young and the old

In pubs and galleries where litter’s pasted on wall

With more alcohol the egos come in from the cold

To test their mettle, and scratch their balls…

There’s posturing, posing, transference of guilt

The chests puff out and the consciences wilt

The numbers dip down as the evening drags on

With more and more booze a revolutions begun

“The problem is, with people today,

They do one thing contrary to what they say”

“There’s no family values!” “The world’s turning to shit”

“Well I can feel better because I have a bag with a fair trade label on it”

It’s made with high quality fabric by substandard wages

In a place where they don’t care about the ages

Of their workers, or their living conditions

But it’s assembled elsewhere which means we can all take higher moral positions

So we sit there sipping our whiskey and cokes

Forgetting soft drink slavery and swapping rude jokes

Soon a fight breaks out about what is worse:

Is science a blessing? Religion a curse?

Is it fraking or drilling? Unnessecary land filling?

Is it bankers bonuses? Politician’s spending?

Rainforest animals no ones defending?

Holes in the O-zone? The height of the seas?

Machines taking over? The death of our bees?

People starving in Africa or starving at home?

Heat vs. Eat? The old dying alone?

Earthquakes or storms? Floods or fires?

Or celbrities shocking and sordid desires?

When the last bell tolls and we’ve all stumbled back

Burping and farting, passed out in the sack

It all seems irrelevant when you are tucked up indoors

With vodka and beer oozing from pores

“Don’t worry for now, we’ll let the kids fix it all

we’ll keep on spending” and scratching our balls.

The kids are the future, we’ve already passed

But only because we couldn’t be arsed

We’re wasting and rotting, hurtling through space

But I can ignore it just to save face.

In other news, I have found a way to fight the post work blues… Cartoons and Nachos, a winning combination of childish comfort and cheeses goodness

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Growing up

Its a horrible moment the time you realise you parents aren’t perfect. Its even worse she you realise you’re not exactly infallible either.
At the moment I am living in mothers house, on my own. There is a nicer way to put it but basically my mother has embraced her midlife crisis and decided to travel south east Asia for three months solo. I have been left in charge of the family homestead.

In her absence she has ordered the decoraters to strip up the carpet and completely redo the downstairs hallway, kitchen and family room. I think her reasoning is three fold.

First it really needs doing and the painter is a family friend who will do it right.

Secondly I can’t have a party if there is dust, wet paint and viscious floor nails ready to take on any unsuspecting foot that dares cross them.

Thirdly it marks new chapter in her life, and is a massive hint for me to move upon her return. My mumma bird has had enough of her baby in the nest and has flown far away to lessen the inevitable separation.

All this selfsufficency has taught me that there is a lot my mother does for me that I take for granted.  The least of all is listening to me complain on a nearly daily basis about how difficult my life is.  I imagine it will all ring a little hollow on her return. Hopefully by then I will have remembered how lucky I am and gotten  my act together.

I have three months how hard can it be.  In three months I could:

  1. learn a new instrument
  2. learn the basics of another language
  3. make a third of a baby
  4. watch winter change to spring
  5. Grow an incongruous moustache
  6. breed two generations of fruit fly and make a decent start on the third
  7. Recover from a broken ankle
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