Owympics.

Right now: 'Someone, Somewhere (In Summer Time)' - Simple Minds

I have no idea why I felt the need to write 'Olympics' in a style vaguely Jonathan-Ross-esque but I like it and I feel that it should be adopted hereafter as the official pronunciation of the word.

That hideous patriotic side of me is threatening to come out again so here is an advisory warning for you people who vomit (either metaphorically or literally, preferably not literally though) at the sight of flags, national pride and anthems. You have all been cautioned.

My opinion on the opening ceremony: Bloody marvellous. I'm not sure if it's because I am a patriotic bastard or because I could understand the premise but I thought it was genius. When Daniel Craig walked into the Queen's office and there was a little, elderly hobgoblin sitting at the desk, I was like 'Could it? Could it really be her?' And it was. Right in front of my eyes, I saw the Monarch of our country, the head of the commonwealth, the woman's whose face is manhandled by cashiers and is licked by letter-writers everyday acting in front of billions. It was a genuinely lovely moment. Then she parachuted out of a helicopter... (By the way, I totally kid about the Queen being a hobgoblin, I think she's lovely).

However, as I had accepted that my life would probably not get as complete as it was at that moment (which actually thinking about it, is genuinely sad), Rowan Atkinson took the Gold Medal in life-completeness. I'm not even going to discolour the moment with words, for they are not enough to describe the fantastic-ness of that skit. He is a God, 'nuff said (along with Cheese, Stephen Fry and the internet).

The torch was definitely the most impressive part though. My whole family was ooh-ing and ahh-ing. I think my father was more moved by the ingenuity of the torches than me (which is a hard feat). It was just fantastic.

Not going to lie though, I am gutted David Tennant never lit the Olympic flame. I was so sure it was going to happen, especially after I saw a whole orchestra wearing converse and the sound of the TARDIS during the musical part of the show. I feel deceived to be quite honest. There is no way I can watch that episode now and believe it's going to happen. But alas, I guess things happen for a reason (or in a parallel universe).

So, the ceremony went perfectly, nothing had gone wrong. But, as it was finishing without a hitch, motherfucking Paul McCartney showed his old mug. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate and have great respect for The Beatles, they are one of music's most finest acts, their songs are sublime and they rightly deserve their fame (and massive fortune no less). However, we all need to realise that there comes a time to retire. And I think the time is now, Paul. He buggered up the beginning of 'Hey Jude' in front of billions, a song that he has no doubt performed thousands of times in his career and it was just cringe. Pure and utter cringe. It made me feel sad. So fuck you Paul McCartney *shakes fist.

Now that I have finished shaking my fist, I can now tell you all that I went to see the Olympics Women's Football today at Hampden. It was group G who were playing featuring the countries of USA, Colombia, France and... Democratic People's Republic of Korea. Better known as North Korea. (Or according to Greg, Best Korea).

I did not find out that I was seeing North Korea until I arrived and it was a major honour, I mean, I actually got really excited. Not many people can say they've seen a North Korean football match, let alone seen one in action and it was awesome (even if they did lose five-nil to France, I'm sure Korean propaganda will follow in the same style of Kim Jong-Il's eleven holes in one and publicise their score as 41-nil). They all looked like men though, that is all I will say.

A Public Apology To The New Dear Leader...

Seven years on from winning the bid and we have finally arrived at the London 2012 Olympic Games. The time has really flown by, hasn't it? Having said that, even though I am normally quite a patriotic person, both Scottish and British,  I can't say the impending games has me all fluttered and excited for some medal action. In fact, it's quite the contrary, as I can really take it or leave it. Not that I am of the camp that it is a 'massive waste of money blah blah blah', I do genuinely think it will be good for us in the long run. I just think it's because I don't have a sporting bone in my body that is more the reason for my non-plussedness.

However, the news that some, to put it politely, idiot portrayed the South Korean flag with the North Korean woman's football team is, quite frankly, embarrassing. David Cameron has described it as an honest mistake but really? Anyone with half a brain (or who has seen Team America: World Police) will know that there is at least some political tension between the two nations, let alone a bloody war. Therefore, you should at least check that you've got the right flag. When I heard, I wanted to face plank the table so much it was unreal. Honestly, I cannot apologise to our new dear leader, Kim Jong-Un, enough. Hopefully, he'll accept our pitiful apologies and won't point a nuclear bomb in our faces...

Following on with the Olympics theme, another thing I would like to discuss is the disgusting sculpture in the middle of the Olympic park in London. For those who haven't seen it, feast your eyes on this structural obscenity.

YUCK.

It actually makes me cry, thinking about the amount of money that was poured into something that looks like it's still under construction. How anyone could compare that to such icons like the Eiffel Tower or the Statue of Liberty seriously needs a lobotomy (or has already had one). It's ugly. Actually, it's fugly. A fugly slut. It really does makes my blood boil. I mean, for all the resources we, as a nation, poured into the Olympics, could we have not made a better sculpture? It doesn't even fit in with the surroundings. I just hope that one day, some brave, intelligent soul in power will look up at it, discover how awful it is and decide to burn it to the ground, like a deformed wickerman. I will happily fill the role as deranged worshipper and dance around the flames in ecstasy as it will be an occasion to celebrate.

I wish I could find more words to describe my feelings for this thing but I feel that this meme does the job perfectly.

Self-Explanatory really!

As much as I like to complain and discuss the stupidity of some of the individuals involved in the Olympics, I would like to state that I hope Team GB do us proud. I'm sure we'll win something and I think the games will be good for us, with the benefits being reaped for many generations to come. However, if I was to point out a suggestion, I still feel David Tennant should light the flame like he did in Doctor Who. Then Doctor Who won't just be a programme but will be a factual representation of the universe (and that would be seriously cool).

I think they should have designed the torches the same way too but I'm not too fussed.

Prepare for a Mindblowing...

Anyone remember Jonathan Lipnicki, the child actor who played the brother in Stuart Little and was in The Little Vampire?

Might have chose this photo for a little bit of Hugh Laurie too...

Well, it turns out that he grew up into this...

So wrong.

The keyboard is mightier than the gun...

I've had a number of enquiries as to why I haven't blogged recently, therefore I will publish an apology.

I'm sorry.

Now that that is out of the way and we can all forget the sorry business, I will continue on with more important matters such as why I haven't blogged. Sadly, I regret to inform you all that I have been writing of a different kind. I'm about ten thousand words into a story. Now, normally, this would sound kind of impressive except it's really not. I have joined the army of forever alone sad sacks who write fan fiction. I won't degrade myself by telling you what pre-established universe I am embellishing (or 'destroying', whatever you think) but I'm sure you can all guess.

Luckily, I have a best friend who puts up with my inane story writing and obsessive behaviour. She reads them and tells me what she thinks, which for all I know she probably thinks is the same quality as dog shit but she'll always say it's good anyway. Once they are finished, I intend to put them up on www.fanfiction.net and perhaps even publish the link (if you're 'lucky' enough, oh dear, my sides split with that humorous quip).

For those unaware of fanfiction.net, it is a really great wee site to expand on a universe. There's thousands of stories on it and some of them are of really good quality. I would suggest checking them out at some point if you've got a few spare hours. Better yet, you could write your own. There's something good about changing a bad ending and giving yourself closure. Or maybe that's just me... I'm not sure.

Apfelsaft like a Sir...

You know what I love about internet memes and rage comics the most? They depict events that most of us have either done before or still do that are so undeniably stupid or moronic that we have never thought to mention them to our fellow humans. Take the following example (for example...). I gladly admit to having done this in the past, have you?

This will be me when I'm a hotshot executive. Too pussy for brandy...

Personally, I do not think there is a better way to consume Apple Juice. And if you're looking at me as if I've grown another toe, then I shall retort that you have simply not lived. In the same vein, I've also taken milk and put it in a sports bottle and shook it up (like a polaroid picture) until it resembles a cappuccino-style froth, before pouring it into a brandy glass and pretending it was eggnog (which when drank in the typical distinguished manner comes complete with a white, frothy moustache). I dedicate that to Geoffrey out of the Fresh Prince of Bel Air, in the episode where he drinks too much eggnog. Man, I miss the Fresh Prince of Bel Air...

Fuck Jeeves and everything you stand for!

An End, Once and For All...

Right Now: 'Rannoch' - Mass Effect 3 Soundtrack

I think this blog should come attached with some kind of warning. A warning that to those who do not know me all that well, you should probably know a few things about me. Ladies and Gentlemen, imagine this is a television series and we are at the epic finale episode, where we find out the character we all know (and you know, maybe even, love?) is not who she seems. It can be a heartbreaking and traumatising thing for an avid viewer (or reader) but don't worry, these revelations shouldn't emotionally crush anyone.

As most people on my Facebook will know (mainly because everyone can see my Spotify and the umpteen videos I have uploaded to my wall), I am a gamer. I love gaming. I would genuinely quite happily sit in a room for a week with a console and fully complete a game, losing myself in its story, its characters, its world. The first proper game I ever played came with the first console I ever had. Sadly, I wasn't cool enough to be with the retro kids, I never had a PS1 or a Sega megadrive. Please, don't cry, the very notion itself upsets me greatly, as I feel like I have missed out a large chunk of what is called childhood. The closest I ever got to vintage gaming was a Gameboy Advance when I was nine. (Yes, I didn't even have a Gameboy Color). So I missed out on Pokemon Red too and more importantly, the epicness of locking Lara Croft's butler in the freezer (The more I talk about this, the more I feel the need to admit myself into some institution due to the psychological effects of having barely any childhood). I guess talking about this is a kind of therapy and there is such a thing as emulators which will help me recapture some of the magic.


But I digress, back to my oh-so-interesting life story. The first console I ever got was the original Xbox, which I still have and touch wood as to not jinx the thing, still works. It is a glorious thing, a console that I still play today. When I first got it,it came with two games. The first was Project Gotham Racing 2 (which I contend to this day and to my dying breath, is still the best in the entire series because nothing beats driving around Sydney listening to music burned from a CD to the Xbox hard drive) and Halo: Combat Evolved. I wish I could describe how much the latter game means to me. It's simply beautiful. The plot is utterly fantastic, the combat, easy to master and the characters? There are not many video game characters as badass as Master Chief. Honestly, I could tell you every level in the order it comes in, I have played it that many times. Halo 2 was even better and my absolute favourite of the series, mainly for the part when you drive the tank over the bridge, just such an epic level of shooting and graphics.


I have played many games but my latest gaming obsession has been the Mass Effect games. I have played another game the studio who made Mass Effect, Bioware, developed and that was Dragon Age: Origins prior to Mass Effect. It wasn't the combat, or the graphics that made me love this game, it was the story, the characters, the freedom of choice. Never have I played a game that could go anyway you chose, it was simply fantastic. The best part is that you can play it again and it won't be the same game. Value for money? I think so. Bioware have definitely targeted a fantastic gaming market and I wouldn't hesitate to buy a similar game if it was in the same vein as these other two.


However, as much as I loved Dragon Age Origins (In particular, a character named Alistair who was a freakin' babe), Mass Effect is superior on so many levels. It is literally the best game I've ever played. In fact, if someone had told me to create my perfect game, without any constraints, I think Mass Effect would be it. I don't play these games to progress or get achievements. I play them for the story, to talk to the characters and even (which is a big part of these games, believe it or not), romance a character. In the Mass Effect universe, I chose to romance a character named Garrus (insert romantic sigh here). Now, most people wouldn't think that was a big deal until you realise he looks like this.

Garrus Vakarian: C-Sec Officer and hopeless romantic extrordinaire.

Yep. Garrus is a big, motherfucking alien. A turian to be exact. And yet, it doesn't matter what he looks like, I still chose to romance him. Bioware made him witty, sarcastic and funny, traits I admire. Which has got me thinking. Sometimes, these games have a purpose of mirroring what our own world is like and perhaps, teaching us a lesson. The game's background is fraught with racial tensions and prejudices, quite similar to our own world. Yet in this world, they all allied together and got rid of the thing that was threatening their entire extistence. I haven't got much thoughts on racial tensions in this world but on a smaller level, I guess what I am trying to say is that, with Garrus, I fell in love with a personality, a voice. His looks did not matter to me. Which makes me think that maybe the perception that most people are shallow when it comes to looks are not true after all and personality counts more than looks. It's a bit philosophical, I know and to be honest, it is very hard to comprehend unless you have actually played the game (or you have a decent sleeping pattern).


When I finished Mass Effect 3, all I can describe as a hole was left. That is a sad and pathetic thing to admit but it's true. I will get over it very quickly but a game that is so immersive and dense? It will be missed. Although, I guess there is always the chance to restart from scratch, which I think I will do. I have a feeling that some of the people who read this blog will want to commit me to the institution I described earlier, more for a loss of reality and in general, being a freakin' weirdo but really, there is no need. I just love gaming. I love the imagination. Maybe a little too much, I don't know but I'm happy and happiness is what we all strive for, right? For those who are interested, I would highly recommend playing these games, you will not regret it. And now I leave you with a scene that nearly brought a tear to my eye. I say nearly because I didn't cross the line of utter despair (thankfully).

'Cinephillia' (Calm Down, Let Me Explain...)

Cinephillia. Now say it out loud. It's quite a dodgy-sounding word, isn't it?

However, you needn't have worried about my 'ahem' interests as it simply means 'a passionate interest for cinema, film theory and film criticism'. You could say that the last part attracts me the most because there is nothing I enjoy more in this world than a complaint or a moan (according to my mother that is, who probably would even go as far to point out that I am the Queen of Melodrama, complete with a glittering crown). I won't lie, I didn't pick up a dictionary and learn this term. Rather the education came from a more unlikely source, namely 'The Lonely Island', spoof and comedic trio extraordinaires, so I guess behind their love of jizzing at the thought of grapes or Andy Samberg announcing he fucked the brains out of a giant fish, they can be pretty educational...

I set myself a challenge this summer, a mean, lean machine of a challenge. Last summer I slept, watched television and lazed about. Personally, I was of the opinion that it was a great summer, time very well spent but my parentals, unfortunately but not surprisingly, felt very much the opposite. Therefore, I decided that this summer I was going to become a 'more cultured' being and a part of this was to become a Cinephile (although I do not think 'Cinephile' is a term I'll use in general, passing conversation for fear of being caught up in a high-speed police chase through the mean streets of Glasgow. It still sounds incredibly dodgy...).

So do I consider myself to have surpassed all expectations and be a Cinephile like Michael Bolton? Alas, no. However, to attain such a position would be quite something, even though I feel that there is a certain criteria I must meet before I can use this term (or point out as a posh way of 'I like going to the cinema' on my CV). Before you ask, No, this criteria does not involve any dressing up as Jack Sparrow, Forrest Gump, Erin Brockovich or Scarface whatsoever but instead, I believe to become a Cinephile, you must have seen AFI's Top Ten films of all time.

Okay, I'm reloading!

Currently, as of 2012, the rankings stand at:

1. Citizen Kane
2. The Godfather
3. Casablanca
4. Raging Bull
5. Singin' In The Rain
6. Gone With The Wind
7. Lawrence of Arabia
8. Schindler's List
9. Vertigo
10. Wizard of Oz

Out of that ten, I have seen seven of them, five of them I have seen recently on the road to cinephillia. Whilst I appreciate all of them as cinematic innovation and prestige, I can also state that some of them were absolute, convoluted crap. Absolute nonsense. If I have to see Lawrence of Arabia again in this life, it will have been too soon. Honestly, give me Family Guy: Blue Harvest any day over that film. (The worst part was the day after I saw it, I went to see Prometheus, which had a gazillion references to the wretched movie. In fact, that was probably the most horrific part of the movie for me).

However, it is not just the top ten I am concerning myself with. There's so many more films out there that have to be seen. The good and the bad. I have recently been acquainted with a film called 'The Room' which looks so gloriously bad, it must be watched. New mission for the summer to find and watch that movie? Yes, yes I think so.

Sherif Ali: 'You intend to put future viewers through hell watching this movie by fooling critics that it is the best film of all time?' Lawrence: 'Yes, yes I do...'

Well, like a bad penny, you've turned up again...

Right now: Florence and the Machine - 'Never Let Me Go'

Yet again, as the title suggests, I am back (although I'm not the real slim shady, hence why I have not stood up). And this time, I truly am a bad penny. The reason why?

I broke a mirror hence I am inflicted with a bad luck curse common to all mirror breakages.

Normally, I am not usually that superstitious. Back in my hey day, I was known to juggle three black cats whilst standing in new shoes on a motorised table that drove under numerous ladders... but enough of my automated and frankly, strange and imaginary shenanigans, this is another story for another time...

However, ever since I broke this mirror, bad things have happened. And I don't mean bad things such as 'zohmygawd, I broke a nail' or 'Fuckmylife, I can't go out tonight because I'm so skint'. I mean, the pinnacle of ill luck, the pork chop of bad things. (The pork chop is a long and complicated reference that again will be explained another time and another day. Jeez, I need to keep some suspense in my writing, you understand that right?).

Dramatic Reconstruction of event

Firstly, the day after the mirror broke, right in the middle of my online French lesson, my laptop inexplicably and unexpectedly shorted out and wouldn't work. I discovered the fault as a hard drive failure and have literally only just gotten it back. Worst part? The machine is less than three months old and is already going wrong. This has not filled me with a lot of confidence in Dell, especially if it goes wrong in Canada, where I will be monumentally and irrevocably screwed!

Secondly, last Wednesday, after much drinking and hilarity at Jane's Spring Break Party, I inexplicably twist my ankle. I barely remember doing it, except vomiting and blacking out due to pain. (And I mean pain, I do not do either things when under the influence of vodka. All I remember is frozen falafel being applied to the affected area and asking to go home. So to add to my boredom, being sofa-ridden with a buggered ankle has meant a more avid viewership of Wimbledon that previous years.

Thirdly, finally and possibly most heart-wrenching of all, I couldn't make it to T in the Park this year. I'm sort of numb about it, not sure it's numb because of the gutterment of the situation or the thought of the many hundreds of pounds that I may as well have shredded, grinded and thrown into the wind as the ashes of a possibly better financial outcome but I know it does suck. A lot. (Insert sad, lonely and moping sentiment here).

So, as I'm sure you are acutely aware, I have been crippled (literally) by bad luck in the last three weeks. However, whilst not superstitious, I do believe in the power of three (Charmed Reference for the win) and I believe luck comes in threes. So hopefully, fingers, toes, limbs and ear lobes crossed, this will be the end of my bad luck. And it wasn't as if it was a big mirror. I believe the degree of bad luck should be based on the size of the mirror, it's the only fair way.

However, one silver lining has come over this. I have four days off work to enjoy myself and do absolutely fuck all.

Actual events: Which are always considerably less exciting...