Today I would like to blog about the fact that I went to the dentist on Friday to have my teethicles drilled up. Now as a rule I do not like going to the dentist as when I was a wee lad I had strange teeth, which meant that I had to go to a specialistic dentistic hospital in London. At this institute I had several teeth ripped out from the gums, many a filling done, and even a brace inserted into my mouth. At one point I nearly passed out due to the unpleasant nature of having a filling. This was while I was being watched by a gaggle of interested-looking medical students and I suspect that the operation itself was actually performed by an under-qualified spotty indian teenager. After that somewhat bad experience I am somewhat desensitised to the unpleasantness of fillings; however, I still dislike attending the dentist for check-ups. There is something somehow ominous about having the dentist go through each and every one of your teeth one by one, calling out strange technical terms.
"Oclusar one two three, ok, dental four is inclusively intracted, dental five is sub-linear, dental five has a slight corrective misfunction. Second molar features an m-dimensional linear submanifold of R, signifying a Euclidean space of m dimensions".
(did you like all the fake dental terms that I just made up I think that they are quite clever and gives this blog an added and much-needed layer of biological science)
It is like having a spelling test where one mistake means that you have to have an uncomfortable and time-consuming medical procedure; and even worse, all of the correct spellings in the test are like mixed up versions of the real words. I know that this analogy makes no sense but luckily I am doing English at Oxford University so I can get away with whatever mixed metaphors I want, and just ascribe their logical disfunctions down to your lack of understanding/intelligence. But at the end of the day, it is very unnerving to have all these medical terms yelled out about your mouth with no knowledge of what they mean. I feel that it is a relief when at the end of the check-up the doctor says "I am sorry but I have to give you a filling" I mean at least then I have something definite. It is the waiting on the edge of my seat that I do not like. Although in this case I am lying firmly in a medical seat and am nowhere near the edge - I admit that that metaphor has weaknesses.
I am also aware that I could reduce the chances of needing medical procedures by brushing my teeth three times a day and not eating raw sugar when I am waiting for the kettle to boil in the morning. You could raise that argument; however, that simply necessitates the need for me to call in my omnipresent counter-argument of "I got into Oxford and thus everything that I do is correct and if I want to eat raw sugar and half-heartedly rub my teeth with a toothbrush twice a day than that is good enough for me". Equally, in this case the problem with my mouth was not down to me eating sugar but because a filling that had been done by the aforementioend clinic in London had cracked a bit and needed to be replaced. I am sorry but how I am I supposed to predict and prevent that? I no longer carry a full-scale smelting plant in my pocket and I have long ago stopped eating raw diamonds and Fabergé eggs. I consider myself an innocent bystander in all of this; however that point is moot as at the end of the day I found myself slumped in fear in a dentists chair being poked with needles by my nice lady dentist.
Oh yes did I mention that my dentist was a young thin scottish lady? Well my dentist was a young thin scottish lady, and her sidekick was from Brazil or Sweden or Poland or one of those loser countries far far away. Thinking about it perhaps she was Romanian; she spoke in a funny accent, she smoked a long pipe and when the scottish lady turned her back she tried to sell me beads and crucifixes to ward off evil mouth spirits. I am sorry the previous statement was probably racist and in many ways untrue; there are a huge minority of Romanian women are not vampire-fearing gypsies and in this case I was lucky. While I am on the subject of racism, I do not want to appear racist or sexist but if I think about it I reckon that every medical professional I have ever been to in the last decade has either been a woman, very young, or foreign. Or a combination of the above. I am sure that they all did a superb job (except obvious the fellow who put in my previous crackable filling), but sometimes I wish that I could be operated upon by an ageing white male with salt and pepper hair and a reassuring world-weary bedside manner; the sort of learned chap who has photographss of his grandchilden on his shelf along with golfing medals and who says "Now let's see what we've got here" as he checks out my mouth/wrist/other part of the body. Somebody like Carl Kennedy from Neighbours or maybe Lou. Except English, obviously. That would be swell. I feel that the world has moved on and we no longer get such sterling aged medical professionals working at the NHS. Equally, I feel that all of our doctor's assistants are now fat unattrative foreigners, which is a sad change from the previous "Misshapen Lisping Midgets Called Igor", which used to be the industry standard.
On the other hand, I have just recalled that such a wise aged doctor did have a look at my wrist when I suspected I had tendonitis and he was both rubbish and spaced - I fear that he had been huffing dope or whatever it is that these doctor people do in their spare time and was too mashed off his noggin to make a decent diagnosis. He just looked confused, then gave me some pills and sent me on my way.
So perhaps it was good that I had the young scot looking after my filling. After all, she did seem to do a very good job at things; I have no complaints whatsoever about the filling or the manner in which it was carried out. Actually yes I do; she missed the nerve with the first injection that she gave me and so had to dope me up with double the amount of anaesthetic so that I did not feel the pain of the work-tools mashing into my flesh. If you have not had your mouth numbed, you have missed a treat; it is a highly fun feeling. Like having a huge balloon of warm flesh tied to the side of your mouth. You spend the rest of the day poking it and saying "I know that this lip belongs to me, but... but... but... I just can't feel it!". It is a mightily fun feeling. A word of warning though: you can also quite easily bite through a huge hunk of your mouth-flesh by accident, as I did on one occasion when returning from the aforementioned clinic. I must have removed a good square centimetre of flesh from my entire lips (if you were to put all the chewed off flesh together in a little pile) through a combination of careless chomping and the "Let's see how deeply I can bite into my lip without it hurting" game. Unfortunately it started to hurt very hardcore when the anaesthetic wore off and I started to drip blood all over the Horrible Histories book that I was reading. My lip was swollen and ulcerated for about eight weeks after that incident.
Fortunately no such thing occurred today and I am now fighting fit again. However my jaw aches. I do not know if it is connected.
This is the full story of me going to the dentist. I hope that you enjoyed it. I certainly enjoyed writing it!
Today's Craptic Crossword Clue:
Break the sound barrier before the end of the fete for jungle-cutting instrument (7)
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Tuesday, January 9, 2007
Back to school
And I am doing what I do best... sitting in the library, doing the Telegraph cryptic crossword and alternatively writing a blog about how I am sitting in the library doing the Telegraph cryptic crossword. The answer to 11 across (Trying porridge before fish - [9]) is "Gruelling". Gruelling. Gruel (synonym of porridge) added to ling (type of fish) to make "Gruelling", which means "Trying". That is the answer. Fact.
I am also listening to the chillout playlist on my iPod. This consists of the CDs "The Classic Chillout Album Disk 1", "The Classic Chillout Album Disk 2", "Classic Chillout 2 Disk 1", "Classic Chillout 2 Disk 2", "The New Classic Chillout Album: From Dusk 'til Dawn Disk 1 (Dawn)", "The New Classic Chillout Album: From Dusk 'til Dawn Disk 2 (Dusk)", and two CDs of Buddha Lounge, which features lots of chinky chanting and asian pipework. The song that is currently playing on the iPod is "One Fine Day" by a group known as the "Opera Babes". One fine day? It sure will be when these lovely ladies are singing. A very talented group, they should go far.
I hope to increase my repertoire of quasi-classical oriental ambiant chillout choons with the addition of "Punjabi Lounge" and "Arabic Chillout", two three-cd albums which I bought for my father for Christmas. I am especially looking forward to seeing how the compilers of "Arabic Chillout" managed to compress the entire Middle-Eastern chillout scene (after all, it is generally a very cool and laid-back part of the world) into just three disks. Having had a little sneak listen to the featured music, it appears that the answer is "Rhythmic Chanting" and "Wind Chime Sounds". So I think that is something for us all to look forward to.
in other news, the song that is currently playing on myPod is "Gymnopedie No.1" by Joolz Gianni & Ty Unwin. Nonwithstanding their obviously made-up names, it is a delightful combination of the two seemingly-contradictory genres of tooty clarinet and singy female voice that really makes the hairs on my arms just stand up on end. Also, despite what the title of the song might imply, there is very little reference to child molesters urinating on small children inside an indoor exercise arena.
Do you get it? Gymno - pedie - No.1? That is my interpretation of the "cryptic clue" format. I could totally be a crossword compiler. After all, all you have to do is think of a word that sounds a bit like another word, then re-write it in such a way that it is possible to misinterpret the resulting sentence. For example in the case of this crossword I am doing now "Acquit former copper with large head", "former" means "ex", "copper" can be shortened to "cu", "large" can be shortened to "l", and apparently another word for head is "pate" (I know how strange I had not heard of it either but there you go we've all learnt something today). Stick them together to get the word "exculpate" meaning "to vindicate or acquit", which is the first word of the thing. Hurray!
Now see if you can solve any of my fiendishly hard clues that I am making up as I type this on the spot. The first one to solve every clue gets a kiss if you are my girlfriend or any comprably attractive female. Be aware: most of these clues are not real words. I will start on an easy one.
Southern former gender - (3)
Link noisy tender for weapon - (8)
Fecal pea and double oxygen - (3)
Did you get them? They were not very difficult and I basically got bored and hungry after the first one. Still I will not tell you the answers lets see if you can guess.
Ooh I just got a text message on my phone. According to the phone "Message Memory is Almost Full". But that does not matter because I am getting a new free phone upgrade today. It should arrive in the post and then I will be able to finally put down my current model, which to be honest is approaching the end of its working life. I wonder who sent me this text message. I bet it was Lucia who is my girlfriend. I was making fun of her because she is not Italian but she thinks that because she spent about two years in Italy as a fat baby she has earnt the right to adopt every good thing about Italy as her own when clearly she has no biological affinity with those crazy eye-ties.
Oh wait the text was from Steve, who is actually a girl even though she has a boy's name. It does not matter though because her adam's apple flat chest and hairy chin make her look like a boy. Her text says "haha, dickhead. i heard that's a symptom of autism. why were people running into him? it's a great idea but why?"
I think that it is interesting that she chose to use apostrophes in her "it's" but ignored the far more basic rule of English which is to start every sentence with a capital letter. This text concerns my original text to her concerning my good friend Oliver (who is her ex-boyfriend) who got run into and then his lung collapsed. I am not sure of the exact details but that's plenty good enough of a story for me. As you can see Steve is still basically in love with Oliver and after they broke up she tried to fill the hole he left behind with a series of flings with a guy called Tim, Noel from Hearsay, a pink trampolining jelly-baby and a dashingly handsome young blacksmith from Germany. Yet nobody can fill the hole that Oliver left behind. I am now laughing because I wrote 'hole'.
I will text Steve back now. Here is what I texted to her:
I am using that text in my blog and by sending it you have surrendered all copywrite to me. Good day sir.
Notice my polite but firm sign-off and my impeccable grammar. I am quite the wag. Now to sit back and let the fireworks roll in.
Well this has been a worthwhile spending of a double free period. I do have literally nothing better to do with my time other than read books, and I feel that this probably stretches me more intellecually.
The current song on my iPod is "Street Tattoo" by 'Unknown Artist'. He may be unknown now, but someone find him quick, he's a devil on the sax!
I am also listening to the chillout playlist on my iPod. This consists of the CDs "The Classic Chillout Album Disk 1", "The Classic Chillout Album Disk 2", "Classic Chillout 2 Disk 1", "Classic Chillout 2 Disk 2", "The New Classic Chillout Album: From Dusk 'til Dawn Disk 1 (Dawn)", "The New Classic Chillout Album: From Dusk 'til Dawn Disk 2 (Dusk)", and two CDs of Buddha Lounge, which features lots of chinky chanting and asian pipework. The song that is currently playing on the iPod is "One Fine Day" by a group known as the "Opera Babes". One fine day? It sure will be when these lovely ladies are singing. A very talented group, they should go far.
I hope to increase my repertoire of quasi-classical oriental ambiant chillout choons with the addition of "Punjabi Lounge" and "Arabic Chillout", two three-cd albums which I bought for my father for Christmas. I am especially looking forward to seeing how the compilers of "Arabic Chillout" managed to compress the entire Middle-Eastern chillout scene (after all, it is generally a very cool and laid-back part of the world) into just three disks. Having had a little sneak listen to the featured music, it appears that the answer is "Rhythmic Chanting" and "Wind Chime Sounds". So I think that is something for us all to look forward to.
in other news, the song that is currently playing on myPod is "Gymnopedie No.1" by Joolz Gianni & Ty Unwin. Nonwithstanding their obviously made-up names, it is a delightful combination of the two seemingly-contradictory genres of tooty clarinet and singy female voice that really makes the hairs on my arms just stand up on end. Also, despite what the title of the song might imply, there is very little reference to child molesters urinating on small children inside an indoor exercise arena.
Do you get it? Gymno - pedie - No.1? That is my interpretation of the "cryptic clue" format. I could totally be a crossword compiler. After all, all you have to do is think of a word that sounds a bit like another word, then re-write it in such a way that it is possible to misinterpret the resulting sentence. For example in the case of this crossword I am doing now "Acquit former copper with large head", "former" means "ex", "copper" can be shortened to "cu", "large" can be shortened to "l", and apparently another word for head is "pate" (I know how strange I had not heard of it either but there you go we've all learnt something today). Stick them together to get the word "exculpate" meaning "to vindicate or acquit", which is the first word of the thing. Hurray!
Now see if you can solve any of my fiendishly hard clues that I am making up as I type this on the spot. The first one to solve every clue gets a kiss if you are my girlfriend or any comprably attractive female. Be aware: most of these clues are not real words. I will start on an easy one.
Southern former gender - (3)
Link noisy tender for weapon - (8)
Fecal pea and double oxygen - (3)
Did you get them? They were not very difficult and I basically got bored and hungry after the first one. Still I will not tell you the answers lets see if you can guess.
Ooh I just got a text message on my phone. According to the phone "Message Memory is Almost Full". But that does not matter because I am getting a new free phone upgrade today. It should arrive in the post and then I will be able to finally put down my current model, which to be honest is approaching the end of its working life. I wonder who sent me this text message. I bet it was Lucia who is my girlfriend. I was making fun of her because she is not Italian but she thinks that because she spent about two years in Italy as a fat baby she has earnt the right to adopt every good thing about Italy as her own when clearly she has no biological affinity with those crazy eye-ties.
Oh wait the text was from Steve, who is actually a girl even though she has a boy's name. It does not matter though because her adam's apple flat chest and hairy chin make her look like a boy. Her text says "haha, dickhead. i heard that's a symptom of autism. why were people running into him? it's a great idea but why?"
I think that it is interesting that she chose to use apostrophes in her "it's" but ignored the far more basic rule of English which is to start every sentence with a capital letter. This text concerns my original text to her concerning my good friend Oliver (who is her ex-boyfriend) who got run into and then his lung collapsed. I am not sure of the exact details but that's plenty good enough of a story for me. As you can see Steve is still basically in love with Oliver and after they broke up she tried to fill the hole he left behind with a series of flings with a guy called Tim, Noel from Hearsay, a pink trampolining jelly-baby and a dashingly handsome young blacksmith from Germany. Yet nobody can fill the hole that Oliver left behind. I am now laughing because I wrote 'hole'.
I will text Steve back now. Here is what I texted to her:
I am using that text in my blog and by sending it you have surrendered all copywrite to me. Good day sir.
Notice my polite but firm sign-off and my impeccable grammar. I am quite the wag. Now to sit back and let the fireworks roll in.
Well this has been a worthwhile spending of a double free period. I do have literally nothing better to do with my time other than read books, and I feel that this probably stretches me more intellecually.
The current song on my iPod is "Street Tattoo" by 'Unknown Artist'. He may be unknown now, but someone find him quick, he's a devil on the sax!
Thursday, January 4, 2007
Happy 2007!
Cheers to all of you (excluding, as I have already said, people I don't like... AIDS and rusty needles to you. You know who you are, you weird-faced girl-eyed Noel-from-Hearsay lookin' freaks). And thank the Jesus that 2006 is over! Seriously, I am so glad that we got that year out of the way. Not that it was a particularly BAD year, so to speak... I mean, I spent the first half in a kind of grouchy semi-sad mostly-amblivilent mood, the middle happy, and I've pretty much coasted the last. I am aware that I have managed to include three halves in my description of 2006 but hey - don't worry - I'm an english student at Oxford University (AKA the best place in the world), I don't need no stinkin' maths. Chaucer will see me through.
So yes, 2006 is done. Thank God for that. I mean, I didn't have any real problems with it (in fact as years go it was pretty successful OXFORDOXFORDOXFORD), except for the fact that at no point in the entire space of time did I think of it as a year. I know that sounds weird, but I pretty much thought that we were in 2005 the entire time. I think every single time I was required to write a date on anything I wrote 2005 and it was only when somebody else pointed out my mistake did I say 'Oh yeah... what year is it?' and make the necessary amendments. I literally cannot tell the difference between 2005 and 2006. Those two years just seem to blur into one. But 2007... I like the sound of that year. I like the shape of the letters. While I associate 2005/6 with a kind of angora-sweater-wearing nerd, 2007 has a much more dangerous edge. I can imagine 2007 with a bit of stubble, leaning against a beat-up classic car in a leather jacket, smoking a cigarette in a dusty carpark somewhere in the desert before driving off on some -illegal no doubt- adventure. 2006 and 5 just didn't cut it. Neither will 2008. I'll be so fucked off when 2008 rolls around and kills 2007's awesome buzz. It won't be until 2009 that the years gain any sort of respectability. And then after that 2013. Don't even talk to me about 2012. 2011 will barely pass muster. Maybe year names are like the Star Trek films. Only the odd ones are any good. Although I have never seen a Star Trek film (except for that one with the robots that were all gay and flew around in a big lameo square... it was rubbish).
I'm sorry, I have to type 2007 a few more times. 2007. 2007. 2007. 2007. DJ Fritzy back in the mix 2007, I wanna see your palms motherfuckers. 2007. I just love the way it looks. It gives me shortness of breath and makes my heart beat at double pace. I know that it's impossible to fall in love with a number (although I could refute that claim by showing you THE ENTIRE PHYSICS DEPARTMENT OF MY SCHOOL) but god dammnit, if 2007 drove up on its motorcycle and told me to hop aboard, I'm sorry Lucia but I would be out of there like a shot. I know that you are my girlfriend and all, but 2007 can offer me so many things that you cannot. Don't make this any harder than it already is (for you... I'm riding away on 2007's motorbike! I'm sorted for joy!)
So yes. 2005/6 has fucked off, leaving 2007 as the year of possibilities. After all, I have a gap year to plan, exams to pass, a mainstream writing career to continue to kick off, a girlfriend to continue to swindle into going out with me, and a 2nd VIII to get into. I also have a laptop to buy as I have decided that my current computer is just not equipped to deal with the vast amount of sexiness coming from me. So, with no further ado, here's a rundown of my New Year's Resolutions from last year (with addendums to see how well I did):
I will get a new girlfriend. A new and shinier one, possibly equipped with special features (like rocket launchers or laser eye vision) (I got about five months into the year attempting this before saying to myself 'Screw that, I'll just go for the same old model. Lucia may not have rocket launchers or fancy technological features or, you know, anything to recommend her whatsoever to anybody with non-minority tastes, but goddamnit I have a fetish for weird big-nosed elf-eared cold-dressed neurotic dear quirks and so she'll do for me until Liv Tyler drops the restrainment order')
I'll go to the cinema more. No wait, I'll get a student card first, THEN I'll go to the cinema more, thus saving me TWO POUNDS FIFTY. And I'll watch art-house films and look really interlekchual. (Holy crap... going to the cinema was one of my major life changing resolutions for last year? Man I'm lame. I did get a student card. But I probably went to the cinema less. And as for watching art-house films... the last film I saw was 'It's A Boy/Girl Thing' AKA The Hot Chick AKA She's The Man AKA Freaky Friday AKA Just My Luck AKA EVERY TEEN FILM MADE FOR THE LAST MILLION YEARS. No comment.)
I'll get into the Rowing Second Eight. And perhaps I'll win something this year. (I got into the Second VIII last year! Then I was thrown out of it in what I can only describe as the most rigged set of seat-racing ever. Seriously, if you have ever watched True Blue - and to be honest I pity the fool who has not viewed that particular work of cinematic masterclassness - you'll remember the scene in which our brave Oxford hero Donald McDonald is cheated out of a place in the Blue Boat by the evil Americans. It was like that. I was not happy after being chucked out. But my new boat did go on to win School's Head - the major event of the year - while our 2nd VIII was battered senseless. So I guess it evens out.)
I'll be nicer to people (You can't really measure niceness against the whole spectrum of interesting people that I come across. I suppose I had better pick a specific example... I know, Lucia's sister and best friend, who started off last year hating my guts because for some reason some person who may or may not have been me might have made some sort of comment pertaining to the weight of one of the aforementioned girls. They are a good subject for comparison because the only way I could really go was up. At this point last year they hated me... so, after re-capturing Lucia, I tried my hardest to please and amuse them for the entire past half year by being a model boyfriend, human and spectral being. I was just about winning them round, despite the heavy amounts of hatred being poured my way, when I blew the entire load of amassed love by desecrating a gingerbread in the shape of my friend that that they had made. Come on how was I supposed to know that it was an object of abject worship and love? It didn't even look like Mike.. And I maintain that it was already decapitated when I planted it upside down. In the chocolate cake. It really was. There's just no pleasing some people. So I guess that... yeah, I failed this task.)
I'll blog more. And in return, everyone else will comment loads and make me feel validated (Following the aforementioned fat-calling incident, I got a post that had 164 comments which must be some kind of record for the blog world. But on the other hand I have blogged like three times a month for the past three months.)
I'll get a job? Work experience, maybe. (DONE AND DONE. NOT ONLY DO I HAVE A QUITE WELL PAYING JOB AS A WAITER, I ALSO GOT WORK EXPERIENCE IN THE BEST ROWING MAGAZINE IN THE COUNTRY OF BRITAIN AND AND AND I HAVE BEEN PUBLISHED TWICE AND HAVE PISSED OFF MY ENTIRE SCHOOL WITH MY ACIDIC WIT. MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. END OF MESSAGES.)
I actually did quite well last year with the resolutions. I am such a resolution slut. Ok here are some more so that I can basically rip off this exact post format next year, and the year after that, ad nauseum. :D
1: I suppose get the grades necessary to be allowed into Oxford and thus take my rightful place of Being Better Than All Of You Put Together. It should not be hard as I managed to scrape the French scores... I think I have to get about 40% in every one of my modules to get the necessary A grades. Not that I am over-confident, cocky or coasting or anything. Oh noooo.
2: Uh, pay attention to what my friends are doing? To be honest I have no idea if any of them have girlfriends or if they have got into University or even if they are clinically depressed. I don't really think that this is a good resolution but Lucia says that I have to be nicer to people and she seems to know what she is talking about. Frankly, I have enough on my plate worrying about the current health of my mobile phone, which to be honest is not doing so good. Every time I switch it off the screen breaks and requires me to bang it repeatedly against a wall to fix it. This banging has dislodged the microphone or something because now I swear the tone when you press any button has gone down a key. Don't ask me how this happened, it just did. Thinking about it, the same is pretty much true for my iPod - it kept freezing and the only way to fix it was to bang it against a wall. And now there is a loose piece of metal or something shaking about inside it. Hmm.
3: Be kinder to technology.
4: Do something OUTRAGEOUS. Like kiss a sheep or court a sausage.
5: Listen to bare techno music and really rave out like a total rave pig.
6: OK FINE I'LL BLOG MORE.
7: Endeavour to figure out one poem by TS Eliot. I heart TS Eliot like a bitch but most of the time I have no idea what the fuck the man is chattin about. After like a term of intensively studying "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" the most I have been able to figure out about the poem is that It Is Not Really A Love Song. Well thank fuck for that.
8: Try to fight the urges to actively wind up Lucia's best friend and sister. I'M SORRY PEOPLE BUT THEY HATE ME IRRATIONALLY AND WITH NO SENSE OF LOGIC OR PURPOSE. As Shakespeare said, 'Hell Hath No Fury Like A Woman Scorned" so I reckon that they both secretly fancy me and are just upset that I'm going out with my double-barrelled girl instead. Heh.
I am not really that bothered by the full force of their female hate as it usually manifests itself in kind of irate glares in my direction and a couple of sarcastic comments about my clothing. So really the only reason that I have included this resolution is that their endless hate of me just depresses the gf and as we all know, a depressed girlfriend is an unresponsive girlfriend. If she's sad I'll have to talk to her and emphathise with her and cheer her up and shiz instead of getting down to the real point of the relationship - dressing her up in little hats and making her dance a jig around the room playing an irish lute for my amusement. Hehehe. Of course, if 2007 comes a-knockin', she's dumped anyway so I suppose that it could be a moot point.
9: Get my MySpace up to above 100,000 friends. So far I am on 14. And that is a surprise because I thought that it was 11. I know that this is a sad request but Jesus christ I am now addicted to MySpace. So sue me. PLEASE BE MY MYSPACE FRIEND I WILL BE YOUR MYSPACE WHORE. Click here to find the Switchblade Zombie! It follows my new tradition of naming my internet accounts according to the formula "Random Evocative Sounding Weapon" + "Zombie". So I name all my internet things according to a stringent system. Wanna fight about it? I am also aware that this link is about three lines long. I'll see you in court.
10: This is my tenth New Year's Resolution. It completes this list in a satisfactory way so that I do not end my list of New Year's Resolutions on nine, which is not a good number to end any list on. Um. I KNOW I should stop being so worried about fashion. As anyone who has ever met me knows, I am constantly worried about wearing the latest labels and dressing in the trendiest threads. I resolve to really just relax on the clothing. I don't always need to wear brand new out-of-the-box trainers and to have my hair dry-cleaned every third day. Perhaps I could, I don't know, wear old t-shirts out on the town? Maybe I could go out in my school uniform? Perhaps I could go for a date with Lucia dressed in two-year-old-mud-splattered-falling-apart-trainers, a free XXL tshirt that I got at a rowing venue, a tatty Vespoli Hoodie and some three-year old camo trousers covered in paint from when I did work experience on a film in Romania two years ago? Actually, nah, I am not an animal.
So yes, 2006 is done. Thank God for that. I mean, I didn't have any real problems with it (in fact as years go it was pretty successful OXFORDOXFORDOXFORD), except for the fact that at no point in the entire space of time did I think of it as a year. I know that sounds weird, but I pretty much thought that we were in 2005 the entire time. I think every single time I was required to write a date on anything I wrote 2005 and it was only when somebody else pointed out my mistake did I say 'Oh yeah... what year is it?' and make the necessary amendments. I literally cannot tell the difference between 2005 and 2006. Those two years just seem to blur into one. But 2007... I like the sound of that year. I like the shape of the letters. While I associate 2005/6 with a kind of angora-sweater-wearing nerd, 2007 has a much more dangerous edge. I can imagine 2007 with a bit of stubble, leaning against a beat-up classic car in a leather jacket, smoking a cigarette in a dusty carpark somewhere in the desert before driving off on some -illegal no doubt- adventure. 2006 and 5 just didn't cut it. Neither will 2008. I'll be so fucked off when 2008 rolls around and kills 2007's awesome buzz. It won't be until 2009 that the years gain any sort of respectability. And then after that 2013. Don't even talk to me about 2012. 2011 will barely pass muster. Maybe year names are like the Star Trek films. Only the odd ones are any good. Although I have never seen a Star Trek film (except for that one with the robots that were all gay and flew around in a big lameo square... it was rubbish).
I'm sorry, I have to type 2007 a few more times. 2007. 2007. 2007. 2007. DJ Fritzy back in the mix 2007, I wanna see your palms motherfuckers. 2007. I just love the way it looks. It gives me shortness of breath and makes my heart beat at double pace. I know that it's impossible to fall in love with a number (although I could refute that claim by showing you THE ENTIRE PHYSICS DEPARTMENT OF MY SCHOOL) but god dammnit, if 2007 drove up on its motorcycle and told me to hop aboard, I'm sorry Lucia but I would be out of there like a shot. I know that you are my girlfriend and all, but 2007 can offer me so many things that you cannot. Don't make this any harder than it already is (for you... I'm riding away on 2007's motorbike! I'm sorted for joy!)
So yes. 2005/6 has fucked off, leaving 2007 as the year of possibilities. After all, I have a gap year to plan, exams to pass, a mainstream writing career to continue to kick off, a girlfriend to continue to swindle into going out with me, and a 2nd VIII to get into. I also have a laptop to buy as I have decided that my current computer is just not equipped to deal with the vast amount of sexiness coming from me. So, with no further ado, here's a rundown of my New Year's Resolutions from last year (with addendums to see how well I did):
I actually did quite well last year with the resolutions. I am such a resolution slut. Ok here are some more so that I can basically rip off this exact post format next year, and the year after that, ad nauseum. :D
1: I suppose get the grades necessary to be allowed into Oxford and thus take my rightful place of Being Better Than All Of You Put Together. It should not be hard as I managed to scrape the French scores... I think I have to get about 40% in every one of my modules to get the necessary A grades. Not that I am over-confident, cocky or coasting or anything. Oh noooo.
2: Uh, pay attention to what my friends are doing? To be honest I have no idea if any of them have girlfriends or if they have got into University or even if they are clinically depressed. I don't really think that this is a good resolution but Lucia says that I have to be nicer to people and she seems to know what she is talking about. Frankly, I have enough on my plate worrying about the current health of my mobile phone, which to be honest is not doing so good. Every time I switch it off the screen breaks and requires me to bang it repeatedly against a wall to fix it. This banging has dislodged the microphone or something because now I swear the tone when you press any button has gone down a key. Don't ask me how this happened, it just did. Thinking about it, the same is pretty much true for my iPod - it kept freezing and the only way to fix it was to bang it against a wall. And now there is a loose piece of metal or something shaking about inside it. Hmm.
3: Be kinder to technology.
4: Do something OUTRAGEOUS. Like kiss a sheep or court a sausage.
5: Listen to bare techno music and really rave out like a total rave pig.
6: OK FINE I'LL BLOG MORE.
7: Endeavour to figure out one poem by TS Eliot. I heart TS Eliot like a bitch but most of the time I have no idea what the fuck the man is chattin about. After like a term of intensively studying "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" the most I have been able to figure out about the poem is that It Is Not Really A Love Song. Well thank fuck for that.
8: Try to fight the urges to actively wind up Lucia's best friend and sister. I'M SORRY PEOPLE BUT THEY HATE ME IRRATIONALLY AND WITH NO SENSE OF LOGIC OR PURPOSE. As Shakespeare said, 'Hell Hath No Fury Like A Woman Scorned" so I reckon that they both secretly fancy me and are just upset that I'm going out with my double-barrelled girl instead. Heh.
I am not really that bothered by the full force of their female hate as it usually manifests itself in kind of irate glares in my direction and a couple of sarcastic comments about my clothing. So really the only reason that I have included this resolution is that their endless hate of me just depresses the gf and as we all know, a depressed girlfriend is an unresponsive girlfriend. If she's sad I'll have to talk to her and emphathise with her and cheer her up and shiz instead of getting down to the real point of the relationship - dressing her up in little hats and making her dance a jig around the room playing an irish lute for my amusement. Hehehe. Of course, if 2007 comes a-knockin', she's dumped anyway so I suppose that it could be a moot point.
9: Get my MySpace up to above 100,000 friends. So far I am on 14. And that is a surprise because I thought that it was 11. I know that this is a sad request but Jesus christ I am now addicted to MySpace. So sue me. PLEASE BE MY MYSPACE FRIEND I WILL BE YOUR MYSPACE WHORE. Click here to find the Switchblade Zombie! It follows my new tradition of naming my internet accounts according to the formula "Random Evocative Sounding Weapon" + "Zombie". So I name all my internet things according to a stringent system. Wanna fight about it? I am also aware that this link is about three lines long. I'll see you in court.
10: This is my tenth New Year's Resolution. It completes this list in a satisfactory way so that I do not end my list of New Year's Resolutions on nine, which is not a good number to end any list on. Um. I KNOW I should stop being so worried about fashion. As anyone who has ever met me knows, I am constantly worried about wearing the latest labels and dressing in the trendiest threads. I resolve to really just relax on the clothing. I don't always need to wear brand new out-of-the-box trainers and to have my hair dry-cleaned every third day. Perhaps I could, I don't know, wear old t-shirts out on the town? Maybe I could go out in my school uniform? Perhaps I could go for a date with Lucia dressed in two-year-old-mud-splattered-falling-apart-trainers, a free XXL tshirt that I got at a rowing venue, a tatty Vespoli Hoodie and some three-year old camo trousers covered in paint from when I did work experience on a film in Romania two years ago? Actually, nah, I am not an animal.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
