04 February 2006

Sense of humour meltdown

This is replacing a drunken rant I wrote last night in a total rage.

My phone got stolen last night. It serves me right for being in a rubbish nightclub off Tottenham Court Road. Anyway, after having my phone stolen, my headphones are then stolen, meaning I can't console myself with music. I know I should count myself lucky that it was just the headphones, but it's a bit difficult at the moment. To be pickpocketed twice in one night is carelessness, to paraphrase Oscar Wilde. So after discovering the phone was gone I had a total sense of humour meltdown and shot vitriol and bile in every direction, even at the people trying to help out. So not only am I a victim of a crime, I'm also guilty of being a total arsehole. My punishment was spending 2 hours on nightbuses desperate for a pee. Karma works man, karma works. Believe it.

03 February 2006

hodgepodge & dreich

So I don't know about this new look. It's kind of funky. I could tweak it I suppose, but that seems like a bit too much of an effort. Just felt like a change, really.

London is cloudy and cold. Usually it's one or the other, but no - we've got both. In fact, there's even been a few snow flurries. I can hear the wusses in the Met Office shrieking with horror, demanding no one even look at their car for fear of an accident. I only saw about three flakes. That's enough, in gambling terms, for a white Christmas, so it's certainly enough to cause meteorlogical hysteria in Britain.

I've been thinking about words today, as I've been writing a bit and the weather's shit. For instance, hodgepodge, hugely descriptive of my recent posts as they tend to be more scattered gibberish (another favourite word) than anything coherent. Hodgepodge is kind a chubby fuzzy word for mishmash or, in this case, talking a load of unconnected bollocks. The reason that I've been writing such hodgepodge is I'm using the blog as a kind of warm-up when I'm working on the book. That's also why posts have been more frequent.

Dreich is Scots, and means dull. Very good for describing the current weather. It's almost onomatopoaeic. Much better than just saying it's miserable.

02 February 2006

new look

I changed the look. Dunno why. Hope it doesn't suck.

Just saw the blog of a congressman who wanted to keep in touch with his constituents and there were fewer comments there than here. I suppose if politicians insist on sucking, we as the voting public will keep on not really giving a shit.

Also, found some awesome photos by this guy in New York. Check it out.

quote of the day

I link to a site called overheard in New York because it's very, very funny. Well, this is the quote that's made me laugh more than most things today. Ace. Go visit the site.

Hipster guy: Yeah and what's with Simon Cowell? That guy is like the Grinch Who Stole Everything Else.

--Abbey Bar, Williamsburg

That knight's butterlicious

Played chess for the first time in ages last night. Brilliant fun. Old fogey stuff with cigars and brandy. My opponent won one and I won one, and we decided to leave it at that under the guise of a gentlemanly result, though the real reason was that we were tired and drunk. Got home very late and read some awesome recipes, including a new one for the perfect chocolate mousse. I may well have to test this recipe, though I'm suspicious as it eliminates butter from the proceedings. Love butter. Which made cooking last night difficult as I had to make mashed potatoes with something called "butterlicious". It didn't taste like butter and it wasn't delicious, so I feel the name was misleading. Hate fake butter. The real thing is so unbelievably wonderful, how could anyone want to fake it? Fake stuff is worse for you than the real stuff. I'm sure of it. So are quite a few doctors. Something that is definitely bad is smoking, even if it's cigars. I'm not very good at smoking cigars, mostly because they bore the shit out of me. The first couple of puffs are great, but then it all goes downhill from there. They also give me hangovers. And cigar hangovers are mingin'.


play chess

don't smoke cigars

eat real butter

Oh, and have an apple. I'm having one right now and not thinking how I could be eating Green & Black's Butterscotch.

Oh - tried Green & Black's ice cream for the first time last night. Boy is that some seriously good shit. Gonna be gettin' myself some of that action.

Exercising nearly killed me this morning. It's very cold in London at the moment. Today's escapism during the exercise was nothing to do with the book, oddly enough. It was to do with Boston. I started recreating my old apartment in my head, trying to remember how my parent's room was laid out, how many burners my mother's industrial cooker had (bloody thing had its own skillet - crazy stuff), how the furniture was laid out in the living room - all that sort of stuff. It ties into another book idea I have in some ways but was really just a stationary cross-country ski down memory lane. It was nice how vivid everything still seemed.

It took 3 1/2 songs to warm my hands during the work-out; usually only takes 2. I time my workouts through songs on my iPod. Better than looking at a timer going slower and slower the more exhausted you get. And sometimes I sing along, though usually I'm too out of breath.


work out. it sucks but somewhere there's a sense of accomplishment.


Night dreams have not been treating me well of late. Last night I woke up screaming and threw one of my pillows across the room. No idea why. Creeped me out a bit though.

01 February 2006


This is my 150th post apparently. Not too excited as I bet most of them, were I cast cast a glance in the rearview mirror, wouldn't be all that timeless. Lots of ones with "..." in the title. Quite a few describing drunken silliness. Loads of rants or almost no ranting, depending on how you look at it.

Two people have tried to give me cars. And I had to say no. Running costs and all that. London c'est tres cher. Am I a moron? I'm mulling that one. I mean, it might be expensive in the long run, but a free car is a free car. And two free cars? One's a Clio & one's a Corsa. It's not like I'm turning down a couple of Porsches. Still, I have a hunch I'll be bellowing "D'oh!" a la Homer sooner rather than later. - I should also say that the Corsa's "N" reg, and its gear box recently exploded (or whatever gear boxes do to fail triumphantly - it may not be spontanteous combustion) and as such didn't inspire a great deal of confidence. Of course, beggars can't be choosers.

A band wagon has pulled by and I have lept on, ears first. I really like the Arctic Monkeys. I Bet You Look Good On the Dancefloor is a wicked song. As is Bigger Boys and Stolen Sweethearts. In fact, there are damn few that I don't like. Sadly, the entirety of the music buying public of this small island seem to have a similar reaction. They've sold their first album faster than the Road Runner with an ACME jet pack. Deservedly so.

February is here. Bit of a lazy month; only 28 days and all. I have a lot to do this month. Squeeze 31 days worth into the 28. Can it be done? I'll let you know on the first of March.

Oh - by the way, I'm hoping to have a completed first draft of my novel by the end of March. So 2 months from today.

31 January 2006

In need of a notebook

I had an idea for a short story yesterday. A good one. It happened on the tube, either the District or the Victoria Line. Can't remember which. But that makes sense as I can't remember the bloody idea either. Senility at 29? Brilliant. Will buy a nice pocket notebook today. And carry pens. And write down ideas when they come. Because that's what writers do. If they didn't, they'd just be "rs". And nobody would know what the fuck that is.

And my nose twitches on.

Culture lunch and weirdness

It is a matter of incredible coolness that one of London's finest museums also boasts one of its finest restaurants. Cool but strange, I suppose. It's not something that pops into the head when thinking of going to a museum: "Why don't we grab a bite at the V & A?" It just doesn't sound right. Well, "let's grab a bite at Tate Britain" has just entered into the growing lunch/dinner suggestions in my arsenal. I was meeting Andy, his mum and his bro (who runs the shop there) for lunch and to say ciao as he's off to the land of sheep and kiwis. The food was amazing and the wine list, for a geek like me, extraordinary. The restaurant itself is enclosed in a massive mural which we think was painted by an artist named Whistler, but not James McNeill Whistler. It depicted structures from various cultures (I liked the pagoda) in arcadian settings with the odd unicorn and nymph kicking about. As you do. It works as a dining room though, chilling one out while eliminating the risk of a rogue dollop of hollandaise sauce splatting onto an old master. Ruining art through appetite would be a terrible thing, not quite as bad as ruining it through untied shoelaces, but pretty bad nonetheless.

In any case, the food was amazing, though I wimped out in menu selection, choosing guinea fowl on herb tagliatelli. Don't get me wrong - it tasted amazing. But I'd promised myself I'd eat fish more frequently and had two great choices of ichthyoid but instead went for the haut cuisine version of Chicken Tonight. You see, I didn't always like good food. In fact, both my parents used to despair at my lack of taste. My menu was so limited that by the age of 9, I could prepare everything thing that I would eat myself. Sound impressive? It shouldn't. Because hot dogs, super noodles, toaster oven pizzas and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are pretty easy to make. Well. Warm up, really. Except for the peanut butter and jelly. Those you don't warm up. You can, though. My first year in university led to the discovery of peanut butter & jam toasties, which were a true treat. So I didn't like great food. I wasted a childhood with a Cordon Bleu trained mother, who for 3 years was writing a cook book and testing the recipes at home, eating hot dogs and super noodles. And boiled mince. Forgot about that one. Or tried to at least. Yuk. Actually, I don't feel so bad about the guinea fowl anymore. Still should have had the paoched smoked haddock though.

The half-a-dozen or so readers of this site might remember my twitch. Its remission has been a blessing. I try not to think about it, lest in trying to detect it I start it again. In lamenting its existence, I blamed evolution, claiming that the pinky was a better place for a twitch than the eye. *This is the weirdness referred to in the title, by the way.* So what's been happening in the last few days? Well, no, my pinky isn't twitching, that would be funny. And creepy. No, it's my nose. My nose is twitching. Like Samantha on Bewitched. Well, maybe not that extreme and certainly not as cute a nose, but it feels like it's doing the Samantha thing. Is it sinuses? Is it stress again (this is a possibility)? Is it just plain peculiar? Definitely the latter. As an affliction it's ridiculous. I can't go tell a doctor that my nose is twitching. He or she would think I was a moron. They may be right. It sounds like something a redneck grandpa sitting on a porch in rural Mississippi would use to predict the weather: "Ayup... mah nose's twitchin'... must be rain-a'-comin.. th'old honker's nevah wrong". So I don't know whether to blow my nose more often, to clear sinuses which could be causing it, or not blow my nose, because it could be aggravating it. Life's full of stupid decisions.

My dad wants me to stop deluding myself and get a job and resign writing once again to a hobby or pipe dream. Issues abound. Have a smoothie.

29 January 2006

Fish and no chips

I rewatched Finding Nemo today. I might go back to old favourites more than I should. It means I don't watch enough new movies. Whatever. I really needed to watch it, so I did. Brilliant film. Go watch it.