Dangnabbit, I've been hornswoggled

Bart: That ain't been popular since aught six, dagnab it.
Homer: Bart, what did I tell you?
Bart: No talking like a grizzled 1890s prospector...consarn it.

Thanks to here for that. Google is all good, I knew I could remember that line and all it took was typing 'bart simpson grizzled prospector' into it to find the exact quote, on the number one link. But more bizzarely, this oddly named site was listed as 4th most likely possibility, due in part to O J Simpson. The internet. Again with being strange.

Anyway the point is that Tim has duped me into coming into the Loft, that den of iniquity (side note, that curio shop in town called the Den of Antiquity: ha!), in order to 'do work'. It's not clear what this 'doing work' involves exactly, although it seems to be a lot of messing about on the internet and adding to the GWA (about time somebody did, I was going to do it myself when next I was in danger of actually getting some thesis done). All-in-all this has not proved the entertaiment-fest that I had hoped for, and that he had promised. Still, there's always time for a bit of hot blog action, so to speak.

The last week or so has actually been filled with interesting-type activities. Oh no, here come 'Tales of the Weekend' again, I know, but then I'm feeling a tale banal, so sue me. Perhaps I'll throw in some biting and incisive social commentary. Don't hold your breath though.

Donnie Darko which was an extremely cool if more than a little weird movie, although not as weird as some (and I'm afraid James Tremewan is the only one that can ever understand - visions of Richard Burton running around imploring "My need! My NEEEEEED!!!" can never be truly erased from one's consciousness). No, Donnie Darko was weird in that good and highly intelligent manner, or as we decided later 'our brains hurt, but in a good way'. I may also add that not since Sexy Beast ('Yes! No. Yes! No. Yes! No. Yes! No. Yes. No.' Ah, just rent it if you have no idea as to what I'm talking about, it's also good) has a cinema screen been graced by such a goddamned scary rabbit. Rabbits! Who would have thought they had a potential to be menacing as a species? Apart from, as James pointed out (and this was only comically menacing) Monty Python? I submit no-one. But no, here's this rabbit in this film that, in context, had to be one of the most unnerving things in a movie I think I've ever seen, up there in fact with Bill Pullman walking through a deserted, completely silent, very dark hallway in his house, in Lost Highway. In fact, if someone in the scary rabbit suit had walked down the aisle of the theatre at the appropriate time in the movie, I think I would have had a complete panic attack (AAARRRGGHH, Oh God oh God oh GOD, it's the SCARY RABBIT!!! Chriiiiist! Get out of my way! RUN!!!!). It's cool though, because the scary rabbit plays an intricate part in the time travel. Yes, I know what you're thinking, but it all makes sense (kind of, it helped to have the additional information stuck up on the walls by the Rialto), and the guy who both wrote and directed it needs to be very seriously congratulated. I urge everyone to go and see it that has not done so, and inform me when you do (if you are in the same country as me) because I would be more than happy to give it a repeat viewing.

In non-scary-rabbit-related-matters, I want to know why I always type 'because' as 'becasue' almost without fail, and I want to know now, damn it.
Answers on the back of a stamped, self addressed cabbage to:

Ben's Mysterious Constant Typo Competition
22B Baker Street
Stoke-Woding by the Mill
But Only On Tuesdays.

James T's post from Clapham illustrates that England, and I think probably Europe in general, has much cooler place names than we do here. 'Clapham' definitely sounds like a place with a bit of history and character, not like boring old Riccarton or Linwood or Cashmere, although it's probably all in the connotations. But mostly we got the boring names from our colonists I think ( "We shall name this beautiful part of this exotic new land...Russell! He's a friend of mine back home who owns 17 percent of the United Kingdom"), and had rely on the Maori language to come up with a few interesting (and original) placenames, like Taumatawhakatangihangakoauauotamateapokaiwhenuakitanatahu, and I'm not making that up. There are local exceptions of course (will the mystery of who 'Murray Ainsley' was and why he had a Christchurch suburb named after him ever be solved?), but I mean really, who would you rather play soccer for, Murray Ainsley or West Ham? See also Arsenal, Queens Park, Tottenham Hotspur, Aston Villa, Ipswich, Crystal Palace (how cool is that?) and the brilliantly denominated Sheffield Wednesday. Then in greater Europe there's Juventus, Inter Milan, Real Madrid (as opposed to Imaginary Madrid), Bayern Munich, Ajax Amsterdam, and my personal favourite, Dynamo Kiev. Meanwhile, what is New Zealand's big professional soccer team named?

The Auckland Kingz.

Not only is the name 'Auckland' not particularly interesting, but it's Kingz with a 'z'. Arrrrggghh. I find thee guilty of an affront to the English language, the Kingz, and I sentence you to be hung by the neck until you are dead, which, seeing the way you have been going in the last few games, will be of no detriment to your defensive play.

Anyway, where was I before I went off on this extremely random tangent? Oh yes, events of the week. Friday evening saw a barbecue at Chez Nic's Mum (Le Maison de la Mason's Mere). Once again I appointed myself head barbecue chef guy, chief in charge of burning meat. I do get somewhat upset however when people want to go cooking their Sizzlers within er, tasteshot of my delicate gourmet barbecue sensibilities. I will make no further comment on my own personal view of this particular product, save to post for the record that pizza flavoured sizzlers are now available. Mmmm, the great taste of pizza, now available as a sausage. Oh, dear God, the horror. Following cooking their was eating, and listening to the Muppets album, and then strangely enough the 'Deliverance' soundtrack, on the good ol' LP player, which only served to illustrate -

1) Never go rafting in hillbilly country, and;
2) The Muppets should be back on TV right now damnit, so we can appreciate them on a whole new level.

- although not necessarily in that order.

Saturday's cricket was an unfortunate waste of time due to a combination of circumstances, prime factor among them being the opposition were a bunch of infuriating dullards. There was one side effect of possible biological interest though, which occurred during the 27th over of the Lancaster Park-Woolston (see - Woolston? No wonder they were infuriating dullards, coming from a place named Woolston) innings when I went to throw the ball into the keeper and my arm unexpectedly flew off, striking the leg bail and technically running the batsman out. No, but seriously folks, what happened was that during the day I put on sunscreen as you do, and was duly not burnt, except for the little scarred / healing new skin bit on my face acquired on my previous get robbed / fall down adventure. Sunscreen aided it not. So the small slightly pink patch on my chin went noticeably more pink. Curious. I guess it was sort of naive skin that didn't know anything about the big bad world, and laughed off the friendly offer of help from concerned sunscreen, ignorant of the brutally harsh treatment it would soon receive from the UV hands of the nasty sun. Well, I suppose pride comes before a fall, or possibly a rolling stone gathers no moss.

Hmmm, looking back on it now, I'm not sure that that (English: silly) last story was worth telling. Well, I did warn you I was feeling banal. I will accept the judgement of my peers on that one (but not you Tim. Get back to your oars, scum).

Saturday night saw nerdly activity in the form of internet gaming. Now, me and my friends have been accused of being geeky on occasion by those who know us (and indeed we often accuse ourselves), and the fact for example that I know exactly what a Blastech DL-44 is demonstrates that there is perhaps some weight to these allegations. However, anyone in doubt of just how much further towards the 'Steve Urkel' side of the geek scale one can be should take the time to stick the head in the door of the seriously hardcore domain of geekery that is the LAN in Cathedral Square. This is a place without natural light, a humid, moist, slightly smelly place bathed only in the eerie crepuscular glow of 19 inch monitors, and where the constant sounds of gun and laser fire and furious mouse clicking are punctuated by long bursts of angry-sounding rhetoric in various Asian languages. This is exactly the kind of place where that guy in Hong Kong or wherever it was sat down, didn't get up for 86 hours, even to sleep or eat, and then died from exhaustion. And it's always a bit of an ego-boost to see this kind of thing, because I know that my attitude is while hard-core computer gaming may be a fun place to visit occasionally, I really wouldn't want to live there. And by the looks of it, there are people that virtually do live there. Scary (he said, ironically having been typing in front of this screen for a good 2 hours at this point). Fresh air, people! It's not corrosive (or not much yet, anyway). Which reminds me that this summer, thesis permitting of course (and that's no small obstacle), I plan to go tramping somewhere. Interested parties should notify me of said interest, and we'll duly go get lost in them thar hills.

Yesterday evening saw me at my younger brother Dan's flatwarming at the flat christened 'Hoo-House 2' (It's an Al Pacino in Scent of a Woman thing, apparently), which was good. Congratulations were also in order for him for his feat of sleeping through his only exam (in the remaining course he had left, having not handed the course work in sufficiently quickly in his other two not to fail) and then actually somehow managing to talk the lecturer in charge of the course (Dr Orange, oh he of such quotes as "Hitler had a lot of admirable qualities. He was a vegetarian. He believed in kindness to animals and public works. And he thought people who like skiing were stupid" and "Those great, hairy murdering Viking bastards slaughtered my ancestors mercilessly, damn their eyes") to actually create an exam for Daniel personally and get him a supervisor for it especially, so he could sit an exam of one. Daniel just showed up with his work from his 2 previous attempts at the course (3rd time lucky I guess)and begged, spectacularly successfully it would seem. Good work him.
Drama-folk are weird, and refer to 'Romeo and Juliet' as 'R & J'. Wankers. The party was good though, and featured some excellent back-yard cricket and half a bottle of black acrylic paint being poured on someone's head. Typical really. Dan's new flat also features rooms with walls of 4 different colours, and ordinary dinner plates enigmatically hung up as decorations, with crossed knives and forks as if they were antique swords. Strange. But cool.

So that's my last few days, really. I could add something extremely witty and urbane here, I'm sure, but Tim wants to take off now and we all know that I am of course slave to his whims. Oh yes, as a nod to Torshin's appropriate post regarding Armistice Day, here I am nearly 3 hours late with my favourite anti-war poem by a writing colleague of Wilfred Owens, Sigfried Sassoon. Certainly not as deep as Dulce Et Decorum Est, but it still somes up the whole stupidity of war thing, WWI in particular, pretty succinctly I think, plus what can I say, I'm a definite sucker for poems that I can memorise (just call me Philistine).

The General

"Good-morning; good-morning!" the General said
When we met him last week on our way to the line.
Now the soldiers he smiled at are most of ’em dead,
And we’re cursing his staff for incompetent swine.
"He’s a cheery old card," grunted Harry to Jack
As they slogged up to Arras with rifle and pack.

But he did for them both by his plan of attack.

Right then, that's about it for this epic. Let's see if this thing posts.