Dear You,
I've just got back from a few days in Scarborough or, as I like to call it, Land of Fish and Chips and Overpriced Amusements. It was nice. Here's some of the fun stuff I did:
- Had a cheese and onion sandwich with mustard mayonnaise; is it possible for your mouth to have an orgasm?
- Bought five doughnuts for £2- perhaps the best £2 one can ever spend?
- Watched 'Epic' on a rainy day and thought it was good, if not a little like the lovechild of Arthur and the Invisibles, The Spiderwick Chronicles and Avatar. And (SPOILER ALERT) the death of Beyoncé was a heinous crime, and nobody played Single Ladies which I felt was a missed opportunity. Also, I wasn't expecting THAT many children who, whenever a humorous moment happened, felt the need to repeat it; I'm sorry, small child (who I think was called Arnold- who's called Arnold nowadays?), we HAVE JUST EXPERIENCED IT WITH YOU AND DON'T NEED AN ACTION REPLAY. This is why I'm not having children.
- Went to Whitby and had fudge called 'Dracula's Dream' which was chocolate and strawberry and perhaps better than the mouth-orgasm-inducing aforementioned sandwich. I also went round some vintage shops and tried on hats, and walked into a lamppost, which I then proceeded to apologise to. I did that to a bin once. WHY AM I ALLOWED OUT?
- Went to a Sea Life Centre, decided the queue was too long (it went outside the building- why would you bother), came back and told everyone that there was only one fish which is why we were gone fifteen minutes. I didn't expect them to believe me...
I also went on one of those Twister rides at the fair (yes, Scarborough Fair. Yes, we sang) and, after being squashed against the barrier by the centripetal force- GCSE Physics, thank you- acting upon by compartment-fellows, was convinced I had a punctured lung and genuinely feared for my life.
I do hope you've had a jolly decent half term, You.
Yours parsley-sage-rosemary-and-thymedly,
M.
P.S. Guess who's got another week off? That's right, be jealous.
Thursday, 30 May 2013
Sunday, 26 May 2013
Uniformity Culinarily
Dear You,
I think our relationship has progressed enough for me to divulge a secret. Imagine it's like you've been going out with someone for a while, then they tell you they like piercing themselves at the point of climax (funny thing, actually did happen to someone), but it's not as weird as that; it may be, actually- you decide.
It's this:
Whenever you go to a department store- for me, it's John Lewis- do you ever pass by the 'homeware' section? Do you ever stop there? How about making an audible noise akin to 'oooh' whenever you see matching kitchen appliances?
This is my life.
I could spend hours perusing matching kitchen appliances. I don't know what it is, but I think that the shininess of all-blue/pink/red/green toasters, blenders and food mixers is one of the big factors in my obsession.
But wait, there's more.
I found the BEST household appliances last night. I'll show you some pictures- hold on to your eyes.
I think our relationship has progressed enough for me to divulge a secret. Imagine it's like you've been going out with someone for a while, then they tell you they like piercing themselves at the point of climax (funny thing, actually did happen to someone), but it's not as weird as that; it may be, actually- you decide.
It's this:
Whenever you go to a department store- for me, it's John Lewis- do you ever pass by the 'homeware' section? Do you ever stop there? How about making an audible noise akin to 'oooh' whenever you see matching kitchen appliances?
This is my life.
I could spend hours perusing matching kitchen appliances. I don't know what it is, but I think that the shininess of all-blue/pink/red/green toasters, blenders and food mixers is one of the big factors in my obsession.
But wait, there's more.
I found the BEST household appliances last night. I'll show you some pictures- hold on to your eyes.
Are you still with me, You? I understand if you've had a brain haemorrhage, probably due to the last image. If you're still conscious, would you fancy forming a fan/support group with me?
Please.
Yours unashamedly-fan-of-dishwashersedly,
M.
P.S. I rewatched Les Mis last night; how bad is Hugh Jackman? His voice annoys me- why would you try not to falsetto Bring Him Home? Conversely, Eddie Redmayne did nothing BUT falsetto. So why do film directors cast actors who aren't that good, but they're famous so it's allegedly alright? And Samantha Barks was FABULOUS, if not incredibly tiny-waisted, and she was fairly unheard-of! I just hope the film of Into The Woods is better. Please.
Friday, 24 May 2013
Maths Shmaths....
Dear Whomever is Marking my Maths Exam,
I apologise. I'm sorry for what you've just read. I know that writing r as 16√2 was probably wrong, so shall we overlook that? I drew you a picture for the question I couldn't even attempt to answer, so I think my fairly precise freehand circle deserves at least two marks. And I spelt my name right on the front, so I feel that warrants some points.
But it's not my fault. How fair is it that I'm being marked on the ineptitude of my teacher? A man whose own face has grown bored of the incessant bleakness its mouth is emitting? A man who, when faced with a wealth of pupils absent the previous lesson, told them to 'copy it from someone else' and then 'carry on with your revision'? Who can't/won't make a 'th' sound? (I tell you, it's a bad day when learning about 've feeta notation' and the number 'free')
So no, I'm not going to answer this question, and I'll tell you for why; because I spent the lesson where my teacher was droning on about tangents trying not to tear off my own body parts to bludgeon either one of us to death, as well as refraining from stabbing myself with a fountain pen. And, frankly, the centre of a circle and its radius is not sufficient information for me to formulate a proper answer/guess. What I can do for you is draw you a picture of what you've told me, with a few numbers drawn on, in the hope that you will take pity on me, the poor failed mathematician with fountain pen-induced holes in his hands. It doesn't matter if not; I got a letter saying that my tonsillitis has impeded my revision, which it has- I've spent the majority of this past week in either a bath or a bed, wishing that I had been born throatless.
Furthermore, I'd like to blame both yourselves, Edexcel, and AQA, both of whom were unable to schedule a Maths and English Language exam at different times. Come on, guys! You're arguably the two largest exam boards in the country- can't you coordinate? While I'm on the subject, AQA, can I ask you something? WHAT WAS THAT GENDER QUESTION? It was supposed to be about how many people thing that women have no opinions and don't swear, but that would've been too easy, wouldn't it? I don't wish to write an essay about a man's health supplement, ta.
So what I'm saying Mr/Mrs Examiner, is pity me. Give me marks. I tried; it would've been easy not to, given the two hours I had to spend in isolation, with only people I vaguely knew of and a slice of chocolate cake to keep me company. Please.
Yours desperately,
M.
P.S. I finished my AS Levels! Thank feck for that. Let's swiftly move on, shall we?
P.P.S. I now have two weeks off, and I have no idea what i', going to do for the majority of them. Maybe I should take up a hobby. I'm thinking cross-stitch, life-drawing, the stock market? I think the facts that:
a) My friend has a BTEC in Business Studies
b) We both made about £8 each selling Santa Hats in Year 11
c) I can sort of do numbers
will definitely help with the last one. As for cross-stitch and life-drawing, perhaps I could combine the two? Maybe create a Lady Godiva tapestry, of sorts?
Or I could spend them in bed. I like that one.
I apologise. I'm sorry for what you've just read. I know that writing r as 16√2 was probably wrong, so shall we overlook that? I drew you a picture for the question I couldn't even attempt to answer, so I think my fairly precise freehand circle deserves at least two marks. And I spelt my name right on the front, so I feel that warrants some points.
But it's not my fault. How fair is it that I'm being marked on the ineptitude of my teacher? A man whose own face has grown bored of the incessant bleakness its mouth is emitting? A man who, when faced with a wealth of pupils absent the previous lesson, told them to 'copy it from someone else' and then 'carry on with your revision'? Who can't/won't make a 'th' sound? (I tell you, it's a bad day when learning about 've feeta notation' and the number 'free')
So no, I'm not going to answer this question, and I'll tell you for why; because I spent the lesson where my teacher was droning on about tangents trying not to tear off my own body parts to bludgeon either one of us to death, as well as refraining from stabbing myself with a fountain pen. And, frankly, the centre of a circle and its radius is not sufficient information for me to formulate a proper answer/guess. What I can do for you is draw you a picture of what you've told me, with a few numbers drawn on, in the hope that you will take pity on me, the poor failed mathematician with fountain pen-induced holes in his hands. It doesn't matter if not; I got a letter saying that my tonsillitis has impeded my revision, which it has- I've spent the majority of this past week in either a bath or a bed, wishing that I had been born throatless.
Furthermore, I'd like to blame both yourselves, Edexcel, and AQA, both of whom were unable to schedule a Maths and English Language exam at different times. Come on, guys! You're arguably the two largest exam boards in the country- can't you coordinate? While I'm on the subject, AQA, can I ask you something? WHAT WAS THAT GENDER QUESTION? It was supposed to be about how many people thing that women have no opinions and don't swear, but that would've been too easy, wouldn't it? I don't wish to write an essay about a man's health supplement, ta.
So what I'm saying Mr/Mrs Examiner, is pity me. Give me marks. I tried; it would've been easy not to, given the two hours I had to spend in isolation, with only people I vaguely knew of and a slice of chocolate cake to keep me company. Please.
Yours desperately,
M.
P.S. I finished my AS Levels! Thank feck for that. Let's swiftly move on, shall we?
P.P.S. I now have two weeks off, and I have no idea what i', going to do for the majority of them. Maybe I should take up a hobby. I'm thinking cross-stitch, life-drawing, the stock market? I think the facts that:
a) My friend has a BTEC in Business Studies
b) We both made about £8 each selling Santa Hats in Year 11
c) I can sort of do numbers
will definitely help with the last one. As for cross-stitch and life-drawing, perhaps I could combine the two? Maybe create a Lady Godiva tapestry, of sorts?
Or I could spend them in bed. I like that one.
Wednesday, 22 May 2013
Suggestively
Dear You,
Today, whilst watching 'Skint' on 4OD (that is fascinating/repulsive, isn't it?), I was provided with the advert that was 'tailored' for me, which presumably means that it's based on what I like/watch. Interestingly, the advert was for Bulmer's. Which is alcoholic.
Now, if you added up all the alcohol I've ever consumed, it probably wouldn't surpass half a wine glass. Considering this, why on earth would they show me this? If it was about knitting, old Doctor Whos or Batman, then I'd be like 'wow, where is this amazing technology coming from?' But I'm not.
Cast your mind back to a couple of months ago; where were you? I was laughing at these two suggestions that Facebook made for me:
P.S. I got my sore throat diagnosed as tonsillitis on Monday- I have some lovely penicillin tablets that taste like cat food as well.
P.P.S. Skint is hilarious. Watch it.
Today, whilst watching 'Skint' on 4OD (that is fascinating/repulsive, isn't it?), I was provided with the advert that was 'tailored' for me, which presumably means that it's based on what I like/watch. Interestingly, the advert was for Bulmer's. Which is alcoholic.
Now, if you added up all the alcohol I've ever consumed, it probably wouldn't surpass half a wine glass. Considering this, why on earth would they show me this? If it was about knitting, old Doctor Whos or Batman, then I'd be like 'wow, where is this amazing technology coming from?' But I'm not.
Cast your mind back to a couple of months ago; where were you? I was laughing at these two suggestions that Facebook made for me:
Given that I'm a gay vegetarian, calculate the probability that I would be interested in these ads. Even if you didn't blag your way through a Statistics exam last week, you'd know that it was 0. I was also recommended a post that glorified Tories. I wasn't impressed.
So get your facts right internet, yeah? And more funny animals please.
Yours uninterestedly,
M.
P.S. I got my sore throat diagnosed as tonsillitis on Monday- I have some lovely penicillin tablets that taste like cat food as well.
P.P.S. Skint is hilarious. Watch it.
Monday, 20 May 2013
Adventures in Grease/Greece
Dear You,
Again, I am very sorry for not blogging recently- I am riddled with pathogens. It seems that my weekend has mostly consisted of my taking baths and taking drugs. #paracetamoljunkie4lyfe.
But that was not all. Here's what I've been up to:
-Watched Doctor Who. Anybody else slightly disappointed? I liked the ye olde footage from way back when- I'm one of the few people in my generation to have seen DW before it came back- but generally it wasn't very series-finale-esque. There should've been more explosions and ACTUAL deaths. Not that I'm macabre.
-Watched Eurovision! Loved it- I thought Finland should have won because of the catchy tune and the kiss at the end, but I don't think Europe was ready for that. I thought the presenter was brilliant, and her song was hilarious- I love it when people can take the piss out of themselves. I also thought Greece was strangely great- it was basically men in kilts emulating Madness and telling us that 'alcohol is free', although that belief could be the root of all their problems. I'm quite glad they didn't win though, because next year's contest probably would've taken place in a shed, given the state of their economy. And Romania- what was that? I'm not sure, but I bloody loved it. And Norway, your performance was so migraine-inducing I had to hide under my duvet, so thanks for that.
- I had a recall for a production of Grease in Manchester yesterday. It was for Eugene and Teen Angel, but it wasn't tonnes of fun since it felt like I'd swallowed a blend of razor blades and spiky toenails. They didn't ask me to sing Beauty School Dropout, but the Eugene lines went well, thanks for asking.
- In a hilarious (should it be 'an'? I never can tell) plot twist, I did NO revision. Great life choice there, M. To be fair, I was lying in bed thinking 'Someone please shoot me in the face, I hate feeling like this.' Actually, last night I had a brilliant idea- in the (fairly likely) event that my vocal chords have to be removed, I invented a machine that would help me speak. Before the operation, I would record every sound in the English language, and then spend the days after surgery going through a dictionary and putting sounds to every word. Then I'd type what I wanted to say into a phone/computer and it would talk for me. I even factored my need to go on Desert Island Discs into this scenario. I then proceeded to have an ibuprofen-induced drug dream where everyone was plagued by an illness that rendered them unable to talk, but before it fully happened I dispensed voice recorders with a whole sheet of sounds that they had to record. Just me, saving humanity. Don't worry. I also had a life crisis; how would one write the sound found in 'usual' and 'bourgeois'? Is it 'gh'? Someone please tell me...
So what did you do over the weekend, You? I'm sure it wasn't as exciting, camp or revolutionary as mine.
Yours illy,
M.
P.S. Mother felt my forehead this morning and said 'Ooh, you're a bit clammy.' Well, sorry Mother. Sorry I'm not in pristine condition whilst feeling like shite. Sorry that I'm such a disappointment! SORRY FOR BEING ALIVE! Actually, she has been loverly this weekend; her and my sister collectively ran me a bath with bubbles and candles and rubber ducks and then made a hot water bottle for me. Cuties.
Again, I am very sorry for not blogging recently- I am riddled with pathogens. It seems that my weekend has mostly consisted of my taking baths and taking drugs. #paracetamoljunkie4lyfe.
But that was not all. Here's what I've been up to:
-Watched Doctor Who. Anybody else slightly disappointed? I liked the ye olde footage from way back when- I'm one of the few people in my generation to have seen DW before it came back- but generally it wasn't very series-finale-esque. There should've been more explosions and ACTUAL deaths. Not that I'm macabre.
-Watched Eurovision! Loved it- I thought Finland should have won because of the catchy tune and the kiss at the end, but I don't think Europe was ready for that. I thought the presenter was brilliant, and her song was hilarious- I love it when people can take the piss out of themselves. I also thought Greece was strangely great- it was basically men in kilts emulating Madness and telling us that 'alcohol is free', although that belief could be the root of all their problems. I'm quite glad they didn't win though, because next year's contest probably would've taken place in a shed, given the state of their economy. And Romania- what was that? I'm not sure, but I bloody loved it. And Norway, your performance was so migraine-inducing I had to hide under my duvet, so thanks for that.
- I had a recall for a production of Grease in Manchester yesterday. It was for Eugene and Teen Angel, but it wasn't tonnes of fun since it felt like I'd swallowed a blend of razor blades and spiky toenails. They didn't ask me to sing Beauty School Dropout, but the Eugene lines went well, thanks for asking.
- In a hilarious (should it be 'an'? I never can tell) plot twist, I did NO revision. Great life choice there, M. To be fair, I was lying in bed thinking 'Someone please shoot me in the face, I hate feeling like this.' Actually, last night I had a brilliant idea- in the (fairly likely) event that my vocal chords have to be removed, I invented a machine that would help me speak. Before the operation, I would record every sound in the English language, and then spend the days after surgery going through a dictionary and putting sounds to every word. Then I'd type what I wanted to say into a phone/computer and it would talk for me. I even factored my need to go on Desert Island Discs into this scenario. I then proceeded to have an ibuprofen-induced drug dream where everyone was plagued by an illness that rendered them unable to talk, but before it fully happened I dispensed voice recorders with a whole sheet of sounds that they had to record. Just me, saving humanity. Don't worry. I also had a life crisis; how would one write the sound found in 'usual' and 'bourgeois'? Is it 'gh'? Someone please tell me...
So what did you do over the weekend, You? I'm sure it wasn't as exciting, camp or revolutionary as mine.
Yours illy,
M.
P.S. Mother felt my forehead this morning and said 'Ooh, you're a bit clammy.' Well, sorry Mother. Sorry I'm not in pristine condition whilst feeling like shite. Sorry that I'm such a disappointment! SORRY FOR BEING ALIVE! Actually, she has been loverly this weekend; her and my sister collectively ran me a bath with bubbles and candles and rubber ducks and then made a hot water bottle for me. Cuties.
Friday, 17 May 2013
ASLAN (AS Literatures Are Nasty)
To You,
As you may know, I did a statistics and a literature exam today. Surprisingly, the statistics was okay, although I'm not sure how useful knowing how to work out the probability of someone eating breakfast is going to help me in later life.
However, the English Literature was not so great. I mean, poetry was good, but I was asked about the changes of society in Dancing at Lughnasa. I panicked and made up some words and threw them at a page. Let's just blooming hope they liked my short story coursework, which was about a world ruled by Christianity. I'm not lying, but it was rather good. I may post it some time.
Similarly, my next book, the Aethiopica, is arranged into columns, giving the impression of a Bible. Since feeling slightly duped by Christianity into believing my old dog was running around on clouds, I'm not too sure how I feel about it. I'll try, though- it's only thirty-odd pages long, so it's all good.
Yours literature-worriedly,
M.
P.S. My friend made up her answers to statistics (literally just wrote some numbers down) so there's still hope for the child that wrote at least a page on costumes!
Thursday, 16 May 2013
Poem is Where I Hang My Stats
Dear You,
Firstly apologies for not a-blogging over the past few days; I had exams etc., and I have two tomorrow, so if I fail, I'm blaming you and Once Upon a Time for disrupting my revision.
It's this revision that I'd like to talk to you about now. Tomorrow, as part of Maths, I have to take S1, or 'Statistics One', for those not in the know about the whimsical world of adding stuff up. Basically, since my last Maths exam on Monday, I have been trying and trying to remember as much as possible of means, modes, medians, and some Sxx thing I have no idea about.
What I want to know is this: HOW WILL THIS HELP E IN LATER LIFE? Can you imagine the scenario?
"Help! Help! This man is having a heart attack! Is there a statistician in the room?"
"Yes! Let me through! So I can tell you about the mean length of time he has to live!"
No, you can't. And this, my friend, is why I'm waving Maths a smug goodbye come September. Unfortunately, between now and then is a seething pit of four weeks of compulsory A2 Maths work. My friend realised the other day that one could just refuse to go; isn't a terrible attendance detrimental to a college's stats (oh Lord Jesus, they pop up everywhere)? So instead, why not just say I don't have to go? Bingo.
I'm so averse to Maths, I wrote a little poem- just call me Wordsworth:
'Statistics One, Statistics One,
I cannot wait 'til you are done.'
And, seeing as my other exam tomorrow is English Lit., I can tell you exactly how the poet is feeling. Through use of repetition in 'Statistics One', the reader is allowed an insight into the frustration of the persona and the exasperation felt when tackling such a subject as statistics.
What I actually meant was: thank bugger it's over in fifteen hours.
Yours maths-hatingly
M.
P.S. There's another Maths exam next Friday; Core 2. I've just flicked through the book and realised I know approximately nothing about any of it. Looking forward to that, then!
Firstly apologies for not a-blogging over the past few days; I had exams etc., and I have two tomorrow, so if I fail, I'm blaming you and Once Upon a Time for disrupting my revision.
It's this revision that I'd like to talk to you about now. Tomorrow, as part of Maths, I have to take S1, or 'Statistics One', for those not in the know about the whimsical world of adding stuff up. Basically, since my last Maths exam on Monday, I have been trying and trying to remember as much as possible of means, modes, medians, and some Sxx thing I have no idea about.
What I want to know is this: HOW WILL THIS HELP E IN LATER LIFE? Can you imagine the scenario?
"Help! Help! This man is having a heart attack! Is there a statistician in the room?"
"Yes! Let me through! So I can tell you about the mean length of time he has to live!"
No, you can't. And this, my friend, is why I'm waving Maths a smug goodbye come September. Unfortunately, between now and then is a seething pit of four weeks of compulsory A2 Maths work. My friend realised the other day that one could just refuse to go; isn't a terrible attendance detrimental to a college's stats (oh Lord Jesus, they pop up everywhere)? So instead, why not just say I don't have to go? Bingo.
I'm so averse to Maths, I wrote a little poem- just call me Wordsworth:
'Statistics One, Statistics One,
I cannot wait 'til you are done.'
And, seeing as my other exam tomorrow is English Lit., I can tell you exactly how the poet is feeling. Through use of repetition in 'Statistics One', the reader is allowed an insight into the frustration of the persona and the exasperation felt when tackling such a subject as statistics.
What I actually meant was: thank bugger it's over in fifteen hours.
Yours maths-hatingly
M.
P.S. There's another Maths exam next Friday; Core 2. I've just flicked through the book and realised I know approximately nothing about any of it. Looking forward to that, then!
Monday, 13 May 2013
Drop the What?
Dear You,
I had my first exam today. Maths. Funnily enough, we were being tested on a unit we finished learning in DECEMBER. Also 'humorous' was the fact that there was an exam on the topic in January, but OH NO, obviously sitting it, along with its two other unit exams, was a much better idea.
I actually thought it went alright, but I don't like to dwell on exams, because what can you do?
I finished it quite quickly (unsure of how I feel about that) so I mused upon what I shall continue through to A2 (say that out loud- it rhymes). Obviously Drama, seeing as it's the only subject I'm any good at/enjoy, but what else? If I take Lit., I'll be subject to the dreary pretentiousness of war poetry and Hamlet, struggling to find some meaning in a flippant use of the word 'blue', and wishing that Shakespeare never existed. On the other hand, if I dropped Lang., I'd spend a year thinking 'all of these language theories are bullshit,' as well as running the risk of having a teacher that thinks that only stupid people took language- ironically, so did he (presumably), yet when questioned for their favourite books on their first day, some responses included Twilight and Russell Brand's autobiography. I said that my favourite book was called 'Shades Of Grey', yet quickly regretted this revelation as everybody ran to judge my based upon their assumption that the number 50 was involved. It wasn't, and the proper Shades of Grey, by Jasper Fforde, is a cracking book, that you should really read, You.
Maybe I should drop Maths. Strangely, although it is the only subject I took where one can get either a right or wrong answer, I seem to be doing worst in it. And frankly, I'm unsure of the necessity to know how to differentiate an expression; HOW IS THAT GOING TO COME IN USEFUL?? I don't enjoy Maths as much, either- I have fun in the Englishes.
Well, I've got until results day- that time when four letters have the ability to reduce me to a crying mess or turn me into a grinning buffoon. I fucking hope it's the latter.
Yours finally-stressed-by-examsedly,
M.
P.S. Had that concert yesterday. People commented that they COULD hear the flutes during the collaboration, so a big 'up yours' to the conductors, even though it was only true because we played as loudly as possible, perhaps compromising our tuning...
P.P.S. Apparently there's a rumour going round that I've got a boyfriend. I'm sure that all the guys were disappointed when they heard it, but I must stress that I am very much dans le shelf, and probably destined to stay that way until they haul my rotting carcass into the bargain bin, probably to the delight of Busted (see previous post). Anyway, it's not true, so if you're still interested, and vaguely nice/attractive, drop me a line. Please. Love me.
I had my first exam today. Maths. Funnily enough, we were being tested on a unit we finished learning in DECEMBER. Also 'humorous' was the fact that there was an exam on the topic in January, but OH NO, obviously sitting it, along with its two other unit exams, was a much better idea.
I actually thought it went alright, but I don't like to dwell on exams, because what can you do?
I finished it quite quickly (unsure of how I feel about that) so I mused upon what I shall continue through to A2 (say that out loud- it rhymes). Obviously Drama, seeing as it's the only subject I'm any good at/enjoy, but what else? If I take Lit., I'll be subject to the dreary pretentiousness of war poetry and Hamlet, struggling to find some meaning in a flippant use of the word 'blue', and wishing that Shakespeare never existed. On the other hand, if I dropped Lang., I'd spend a year thinking 'all of these language theories are bullshit,' as well as running the risk of having a teacher that thinks that only stupid people took language- ironically, so did he (presumably), yet when questioned for their favourite books on their first day, some responses included Twilight and Russell Brand's autobiography. I said that my favourite book was called 'Shades Of Grey', yet quickly regretted this revelation as everybody ran to judge my based upon their assumption that the number 50 was involved. It wasn't, and the proper Shades of Grey, by Jasper Fforde, is a cracking book, that you should really read, You.
Maybe I should drop Maths. Strangely, although it is the only subject I took where one can get either a right or wrong answer, I seem to be doing worst in it. And frankly, I'm unsure of the necessity to know how to differentiate an expression; HOW IS THAT GOING TO COME IN USEFUL?? I don't enjoy Maths as much, either- I have fun in the Englishes.
Well, I've got until results day- that time when four letters have the ability to reduce me to a crying mess or turn me into a grinning buffoon. I fucking hope it's the latter.
Yours finally-stressed-by-examsedly,
M.
P.S. Had that concert yesterday. People commented that they COULD hear the flutes during the collaboration, so a big 'up yours' to the conductors, even though it was only true because we played as loudly as possible, perhaps compromising our tuning...
P.P.S. Apparently there's a rumour going round that I've got a boyfriend. I'm sure that all the guys were disappointed when they heard it, but I must stress that I am very much dans le shelf, and probably destined to stay that way until they haul my rotting carcass into the bargain bin, probably to the delight of Busted (see previous post). Anyway, it's not true, so if you're still interested, and vaguely nice/attractive, drop me a line. Please. Love me.
Saturday, 11 May 2013
The Pip's the Thing, and More of Life's Oddities
Dear You,
Whilst a-strolling home from town today, I mentally compiled some things that I think are really rather strange.
Firstly, why is it that the distance between pavements is inversely proportional to the number of pips given by the traffic lights? I crossed a road today that only beeped for half the time it took me to make the trek between kerbs. Now I consider myself to be a (fairly) sprightly young person, so how would an elderly member of the community cross the road- and where I live, people seem to be born old (either that, or give birth aged twelve; it's a rather mixed bag). Would an oncoming vehicle simply run over this old person, sending Scope bags hurtling through the air? With where I live, this is highly possible- the majority of fashion outlets support heart disease or cancer cures or something. Conversely, one can still hear the pips when in the distance of a long-gone thin crossing; madness.
Secondly, Busted's song 'Year 3000' is inherently necrophilic, mathematically speaking. If you take the average age of parenthood- currently 25- and cross reference it with the average age of Busted at the song's 2003 release, 19, one can assume that a child would be born in 2009. So, adding twenty-five years per generation, the 'great great great granddaughter' would be born in 2109, so would be 881 years of age in the 'Year 3000'. I'm not judging, but I'm just saying that I don't find 900 year old women attractive. Well, I don't find any women attractive, but that's beside the point. Anyway, if this 'Peter' from next door enjoys the nonocentenarian offspring of Busted, that's up to him. However, one could interpret 'fine' in different ways; there's the obvious 'ooft' connotation, but perhaps he just means that she's okay fine. This is arguably doubtable- she's probably been in the ground for 800 years, and in a culture that lives underwater, with flooded graveyards, she probably looks like a mouldy mess reminiscent of the Abzorbaloff from Doctor Who.
Incidentally, I also entered that Blue Peter competition which was eventually won by the Abzorbaloff. My monster was a race of alien murderers who lived inside sweet wrappers, and feasted on the souls of children. Quite good stuff for a nine year old. Dark, but good.
The final weird thing I thought about on my way home (it was quite a short walk) was the Eurovision Song Contest. If you wish to know why, perhaps you need to take a long, hard look at yourself.
Yours ponderingly,
M.
Whilst a-strolling home from town today, I mentally compiled some things that I think are really rather strange.
Firstly, why is it that the distance between pavements is inversely proportional to the number of pips given by the traffic lights? I crossed a road today that only beeped for half the time it took me to make the trek between kerbs. Now I consider myself to be a (fairly) sprightly young person, so how would an elderly member of the community cross the road- and where I live, people seem to be born old (either that, or give birth aged twelve; it's a rather mixed bag). Would an oncoming vehicle simply run over this old person, sending Scope bags hurtling through the air? With where I live, this is highly possible- the majority of fashion outlets support heart disease or cancer cures or something. Conversely, one can still hear the pips when in the distance of a long-gone thin crossing; madness.
Secondly, Busted's song 'Year 3000' is inherently necrophilic, mathematically speaking. If you take the average age of parenthood- currently 25- and cross reference it with the average age of Busted at the song's 2003 release, 19, one can assume that a child would be born in 2009. So, adding twenty-five years per generation, the 'great great great granddaughter' would be born in 2109, so would be 881 years of age in the 'Year 3000'. I'm not judging, but I'm just saying that I don't find 900 year old women attractive. Well, I don't find any women attractive, but that's beside the point. Anyway, if this 'Peter' from next door enjoys the nonocentenarian offspring of Busted, that's up to him. However, one could interpret 'fine' in different ways; there's the obvious 'ooft' connotation, but perhaps he just means that she's okay fine. This is arguably doubtable- she's probably been in the ground for 800 years, and in a culture that lives underwater, with flooded graveyards, she probably looks like a mouldy mess reminiscent of the Abzorbaloff from Doctor Who.
Her 'fine'ness is questionable
Incidentally, I also entered that Blue Peter competition which was eventually won by the Abzorbaloff. My monster was a race of alien murderers who lived inside sweet wrappers, and feasted on the souls of children. Quite good stuff for a nine year old. Dark, but good.
The final weird thing I thought about on my way home (it was quite a short walk) was the Eurovision Song Contest. If you wish to know why, perhaps you need to take a long, hard look at yourself.
Yours ponderingly,
M.
Dear NBC
Dear NBC,
In a TV Musical Drama world dominated by the abhorrent Glee, where irritating teenagers sing songs they've never even heard of, that vaguely relate to their teenage angst, it was refreshing to have Smash step into the limelight. Its portrayal of real issues, coupled with incredible original songs, made it seem invincible. I first saw a couple of episodes on a friend's Sky Plus and LOVED them. Living in the UK, and not having the right channel, I waited. Waited for the release of the Season 1 DVD and, ignoring its £25 price tag, I snapped it up.
It had a broken case, yet in a symbolic moment of defiance, I exchanged it with my Glee Season 1 DVD case, relegating it to obscurity. I downloaded the album from Amazon, too impatient to wait for a physical copy. I counted down the days to the release of the Bombshell soundtrack and, when it didn't appear on either iTunes or Amazon on the day, almost sprained my index finger hitting the 'refresh' button.
I'm still waiting for the Season 2 DVD, but I fear it may be the last Smash item I purchase. It seems that you have cancelled Smash. Surely it can't be the actors? From Debra Messing to Katharine McPhee, everyone is incredible and seems to be having a ball. How about the storyline? Season One was riveting, and from what I've ascertained about Season Two from Wikipedia and Youtube, it seems equally so. And the music; the music verges on the beautiful- the showstoppers from Smash and the emotive tunes from Hit List are poignant.
So why? Why cancel it? E!'s poll 'Save One Show' saw Smash win the top spot- what does this mean for the future of my favourite programme? 22, 649 (at time of publication) likes on 'Don't Cancel SMASH' on Facebook surely can't be ignored, as well as the 734, 660 likes on your own page, showing how many people love the show.
So what I'm saying, NBC, is this. Please give Smash a chance; it means so much to so many people, and is one of the best new TV programmes to emerge in recent years. Oh yes, and please make the singles available on the UK iTunes...
#keepSMASHING,
M.
P.S. Dear You, please like this page, as it will make me (and a lot of other people) very happy:
https://www.facebook.com/DontCancelSmash
And sign this:
http://www.change.org/petitions/save-smash
And as thanks for that, you may now listen to this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fRs7AcCuUd0
In a TV Musical Drama world dominated by the abhorrent Glee, where irritating teenagers sing songs they've never even heard of, that vaguely relate to their teenage angst, it was refreshing to have Smash step into the limelight. Its portrayal of real issues, coupled with incredible original songs, made it seem invincible. I first saw a couple of episodes on a friend's Sky Plus and LOVED them. Living in the UK, and not having the right channel, I waited. Waited for the release of the Season 1 DVD and, ignoring its £25 price tag, I snapped it up.
It had a broken case, yet in a symbolic moment of defiance, I exchanged it with my Glee Season 1 DVD case, relegating it to obscurity. I downloaded the album from Amazon, too impatient to wait for a physical copy. I counted down the days to the release of the Bombshell soundtrack and, when it didn't appear on either iTunes or Amazon on the day, almost sprained my index finger hitting the 'refresh' button.
I'm still waiting for the Season 2 DVD, but I fear it may be the last Smash item I purchase. It seems that you have cancelled Smash. Surely it can't be the actors? From Debra Messing to Katharine McPhee, everyone is incredible and seems to be having a ball. How about the storyline? Season One was riveting, and from what I've ascertained about Season Two from Wikipedia and Youtube, it seems equally so. And the music; the music verges on the beautiful- the showstoppers from Smash and the emotive tunes from Hit List are poignant.
So why? Why cancel it? E!'s poll 'Save One Show' saw Smash win the top spot- what does this mean for the future of my favourite programme? 22, 649 (at time of publication) likes on 'Don't Cancel SMASH' on Facebook surely can't be ignored, as well as the 734, 660 likes on your own page, showing how many people love the show.
So what I'm saying, NBC, is this. Please give Smash a chance; it means so much to so many people, and is one of the best new TV programmes to emerge in recent years. Oh yes, and please make the singles available on the UK iTunes...
#keepSMASHING,
M.
P.S. Dear You, please like this page, as it will make me (and a lot of other people) very happy:
https://www.facebook.com/DontCancelSmash
And sign this:
http://www.change.org/petitions/save-smash
And as thanks for that, you may now listen to this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fRs7AcCuUd0
Friday, 10 May 2013
How To Play in a Wind Band
Dear You,
Whilst attempting to play the twiddly bits in Mars this evening, I came up with the definitive guide to playing in a wind band:
1. Tuning is irrelevant; whenever tuning, just keep altering it to give the impression that you know what you're doing. Anyway, it's good to have at least one person out of tune, as it makes your section's bit more audible for the audience.
2. If you can't play the notes, you have one of two options:
i) Choose your own
ii) Don't play any
3. As long as you play something during the most important/easy bits, you'll be fine and dandy, as well as making everyone believe that you know what's going on.
4. If you ever play something, and it goes audibly wrong, you again have two options:
i) Pass it off as purposeful
ii) Blame the person sitting next to you
Obviously the latter is more difficult, as they will probably utter an objection, yet silence them with insults and "God, x!" to your heart's content.
5. If you're ever criticised or you just don't like the music, leave.
6. If you have the misfortune to be at the front of a section, it's easy to rely on other people an then pass their attention possession of as your own with an elegant, charismatic posture. Similarly, always have a backup partner if riddled with a solo- alternatively, you can turn it into a jazzy freestyle, ignoring the notes written.
7. Play the bits you can do first, leaving other people to do the difficult parts.
8. Rests, tempo instructions and dynamics are a repressive reminder of the patriarchal society in which we live, and should be ignored or interpreted at all costs.
9. Varying acoustics in performance spaces mean that you can choose the tone you most like, and nobody will be any the wiser; if somebody finds out, refer them to rule one.
10. Always be aware that music lives forever, so is perfect for experimenting with different ways of performance, from silence to 'altered' (never 'wrong') notes. It's your time your wasting/spending, so waste/spend it how you chuffing well like.
And no, this has nothing to do with the fact that I played in the band-wide rest at the end of Mars...
M.
Whilst attempting to play the twiddly bits in Mars this evening, I came up with the definitive guide to playing in a wind band:
1. Tuning is irrelevant; whenever tuning, just keep altering it to give the impression that you know what you're doing. Anyway, it's good to have at least one person out of tune, as it makes your section's bit more audible for the audience.
2. If you can't play the notes, you have one of two options:
i) Choose your own
ii) Don't play any
3. As long as you play something during the most important/easy bits, you'll be fine and dandy, as well as making everyone believe that you know what's going on.
4. If you ever play something, and it goes audibly wrong, you again have two options:
i) Pass it off as purposeful
ii) Blame the person sitting next to you
Obviously the latter is more difficult, as they will probably utter an objection, yet silence them with insults and "God, x!" to your heart's content.
5. If you're ever criticised or you just don't like the music, leave.
6. If you have the misfortune to be at the front of a section, it's easy to rely on other people an then pass their attention possession of as your own with an elegant, charismatic posture. Similarly, always have a backup partner if riddled with a solo- alternatively, you can turn it into a jazzy freestyle, ignoring the notes written.
7. Play the bits you can do first, leaving other people to do the difficult parts.
8. Rests, tempo instructions and dynamics are a repressive reminder of the patriarchal society in which we live, and should be ignored or interpreted at all costs.
9. Varying acoustics in performance spaces mean that you can choose the tone you most like, and nobody will be any the wiser; if somebody finds out, refer them to rule one.
10. Always be aware that music lives forever, so is perfect for experimenting with different ways of performance, from silence to 'altered' (never 'wrong') notes. It's your time your wasting/spending, so waste/spend it how you chuffing well like.
And no, this has nothing to do with the fact that I played in the band-wide rest at the end of Mars...
M.
Thursday, 9 May 2013
CallirHOE
To You,
Just finished the third instalment in my 1001 book quest; Callirhoe.
I wasn't entirely sure of every plot detail, but this is what I could gather:
- Man and woman fall in love and get married
- Man goes off to see his dad, and gets told (wrongly) that woman is being a dutty slut
- Man goes home and kicks woman in vagina
- Woman looks like she's in a coma
- Woman gets buried
- Woman wakes up
- Someone steals woman and sells her as a slave to a widower
- Man sets out to find her (a bit later, but still)
- Woman gets married to widower because she's two months pregnant with man's child, surviving the blow to the nether regions (not like that) rather nicely
- Man and widower have a competition to get woman back; of course, she can say who she wants, but she doesn't
- There's some fighting and stuff and man and woman get back together
I mean, it was interesting, but there were quite a few plot twists n' turns. This, coupled with the flippant revelation of some important points, made for some confusing reading. Here's a weird bit:
Just finished the third instalment in my 1001 book quest; Callirhoe.
I wasn't entirely sure of every plot detail, but this is what I could gather:
- Man and woman fall in love and get married
- Man goes off to see his dad, and gets told (wrongly) that woman is being a dutty slut
- Man goes home and kicks woman in vagina
- Woman looks like she's in a coma
- Woman gets buried
- Woman wakes up
- Someone steals woman and sells her as a slave to a widower
- Man sets out to find her (a bit later, but still)
- Woman gets married to widower because she's two months pregnant with man's child, surviving the blow to the nether regions (not like that) rather nicely
- Man and widower have a competition to get woman back; of course, she can say who she wants, but she doesn't
- There's some fighting and stuff and man and woman get back together
I mean, it was interesting, but there were quite a few plot twists n' turns. This, coupled with the flippant revelation of some important points, made for some confusing reading. Here's a weird bit:
And another:
And here's the vagina bit:
It's not just that: it seemed that everyone who looked at this Callihroe woman fell madly in love with her, which we all know is complete bollocks. I'm not joking, but I'm quite looking forward to getting beyond the Greek portion of the list- they've all been rather strange, haven't they? Next is the last of the veritable hoi polloi of Greek literature, the Aethiopica, but the Guide tells me it's full of romance and capture- originality at its peak.
Bloody hell.
Yours all-Greeked-outedly,
M.
P.S. Just got back from a rehearsal for Les Mis, of all things. I'm playing Thénardier, which is HUGELY exciting.
Wednesday, 8 May 2013
Book By Its Cover
Dear You,
In my two-decade quest to read 1001 books, I have happened upon the third in the collection (I know); Callirhoe. I've not started it yet, but here's the cover:
In my two-decade quest to read 1001 books, I have happened upon the third in the collection (I know); Callirhoe. I've not started it yet, but here's the cover:
As you can see, it's full of dutty smut. Put your clothes on, please, I don't want to see your prominent assets. And the chap with the womanly hair has his tongue literally inside Busty's hair. Must I be continually reminded that nobody loves me? From book covers to actual real people, we're constantly force-shown images of people being happy in relationships. And for us, the people whose only opportunity to get chlamydia is having a koala wee in our faces, it's not fun; it's nice that people are happy (well...), but rubbing it in the marsupial urine-soaked faces of the unloved is rather inconsiderate.
I hope people in relationships all get syphilis.
Yours unlovedly,
M.
P.S. Forgot to mention the other day, but I saw a sign leading into a village in Cumbria. It said:
'PLEASE D I E CAREFULLY'
I laughed a lot. Humanity isn't ruined yet. What's that? One Direction?
It is.
Tuesday, 7 May 2013
Drama Drama
Dear You,
As of this evening, I have officially finished AS Level Drama and Theatre Studies. It's very sad. From a street scene set in the Blitz (with special guests OXO Cubes) to a duologue about the perils and pitfalls of selling lemonade (with tremendous thanks to JB), this course has been great fun.
Everyone was grand, unless they're not returning for A2, in which case they're dead to me. I mean, come on, guys! We've got such larks to recall- "Mavis!", La Mer and #TKMB are memories to be cherished forever (clichéd helping of cheese intended). Love all of you. Well, most of you.
In other news, today I finally lost faith in Amazon.com; just seen this ad on Facebook:
As of this evening, I have officially finished AS Level Drama and Theatre Studies. It's very sad. From a street scene set in the Blitz (with special guests OXO Cubes) to a duologue about the perils and pitfalls of selling lemonade (with tremendous thanks to JB), this course has been great fun.
Everyone was grand, unless they're not returning for A2, in which case they're dead to me. I mean, come on, guys! We've got such larks to recall- "Mavis!", La Mer and #TKMB are memories to be cherished forever (clichéd helping of cheese intended). Love all of you. Well, most of you.
In other news, today I finally lost faith in Amazon.com; just seen this ad on Facebook:
Spot the mistake. Spot the pisstake. If I hadn't enjoyed both the film and Amazon's speedy service, I'd take my DVD- and book-buying hobbies to other outlets. I hope you're reading this, whomever it was that authored this damnable advertisement.
Yours grammatically,
M.
Monday, 6 May 2013
#FluteDispute
Dear You,
I'm sorry for the gap in posts; I have spent Bank Holiday weekend in Cumbria, having fun and japes. And yourself? Actually, why does everyone else get a day off when it's called BANK holiday. A little greedy, if you ask me.
Anyway, I am going to tell you something that happened on Friday. Due to my lack of social calendar, as we all know, I do my wind band larks of a Friday. This Friday, we collaborated with a string orchestra; it looked peaky from the off.
We were practising a Wild West Medley, where we flutes do the 'wahowahowahhhh' bit of The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. We were the Good part, obviously, and there were some rather ugly members of their orchestra. Anyway, our conductor started having this massive bitch and moan about the volume of us flutes. Shall we evaluate the evidence, Mr. I'm The Conductor Therefore You Must Worship Me? Here we go then:
Exhibit A: We are seated behind an entire orchestra of strings who, occasionally, sound like a cat caught in a lawnmower. No offence.
Exhibit B: Not only is the placement of the flutes laughable, but the layout of our section is ludicrous. There's a good ten metres between the first and last players in the LINE of flutes. LINE. I ask you...
Exhibit C: The notes in question are of considerable depth, and almost unattainable by a generally high-pitched instrument.
I tell you, I felt like walking out. That, or getting him to try and play it as loudly as possible. THEN he tells us that he knows someone who can 'play as loudly as all of us on her own' or words to that effect. What he failed to acknowledge. however, was that this player was an above-Grade 8 flute TEACHER. Fool.
Furthermore, the conductor of the string orchestra (winner of 'I Belittle My Orchestra So Much That They Have Forgotten The Meaning Of Joy Competition' five years running) kept making smarmy comments about the tuning of the flutes! I got sassy (as spoken in the musical Bare, 'there is a black woman in the soul of every gay man'; my life) and uttered a few 'oh HELL NO's but to no avail.
If this continues, I may have to resort to bludgeoning someone to death with a large instrument. I mean a flute, for those dutty-minded few...
Yours pissed-offedly,
M.
P.S. Metamorphoses is a no-go; I've ordered the next one, which is Callirhoe, or however one spells it...
I'm sorry for the gap in posts; I have spent Bank Holiday weekend in Cumbria, having fun and japes. And yourself? Actually, why does everyone else get a day off when it's called BANK holiday. A little greedy, if you ask me.
Anyway, I am going to tell you something that happened on Friday. Due to my lack of social calendar, as we all know, I do my wind band larks of a Friday. This Friday, we collaborated with a string orchestra; it looked peaky from the off.
We were practising a Wild West Medley, where we flutes do the 'wahowahowahhhh' bit of The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. We were the Good part, obviously, and there were some rather ugly members of their orchestra. Anyway, our conductor started having this massive bitch and moan about the volume of us flutes. Shall we evaluate the evidence, Mr. I'm The Conductor Therefore You Must Worship Me? Here we go then:
Exhibit A: We are seated behind an entire orchestra of strings who, occasionally, sound like a cat caught in a lawnmower. No offence.
Exhibit B: Not only is the placement of the flutes laughable, but the layout of our section is ludicrous. There's a good ten metres between the first and last players in the LINE of flutes. LINE. I ask you...
Exhibit C: The notes in question are of considerable depth, and almost unattainable by a generally high-pitched instrument.
I tell you, I felt like walking out. That, or getting him to try and play it as loudly as possible. THEN he tells us that he knows someone who can 'play as loudly as all of us on her own' or words to that effect. What he failed to acknowledge. however, was that this player was an above-Grade 8 flute TEACHER. Fool.
Furthermore, the conductor of the string orchestra (winner of 'I Belittle My Orchestra So Much That They Have Forgotten The Meaning Of Joy Competition' five years running) kept making smarmy comments about the tuning of the flutes! I got sassy (as spoken in the musical Bare, 'there is a black woman in the soul of every gay man'; my life) and uttered a few 'oh HELL NO's but to no avail.
If this continues, I may have to resort to bludgeoning someone to death with a large instrument. I mean a flute, for those dutty-minded few...
Yours pissed-offedly,
M.
P.S. Metamorphoses is a no-go; I've ordered the next one, which is Callirhoe, or however one spells it...
Friday, 3 May 2013
Metayawnphoses
Dear You,
I've been trying to read Ovid's Metamorphoses. I've got as far as the first volume; of fifteen.
All I know is that some people turned into cows and wheat or something, and there were some Gods.
I'm not a fan of poetry- I'd rather read something unrestricted by the conventions of rhyme, rhythm and the number of syllables society tells us to put in each line.
Would you tell anyone if I didn't read it all? I'm not sure how I'm feeling about all of this Greeky Latiny stuff, but there's only a couple more left on the list. But fifteen volumes in one book? A bit excessive, Mr O.
I think I've realised fundamentally why I'm doing this. One of my English Language teachers seems convinced that my whole class is stupid. For example:
'Where's Long John Silver from? Although I doubt any of you would know.'
I followed it up with a resounding:
'Fuck off, it's Treasure Island you prick,' except without the offensive stuff as I'm quite scared of him.
Yours bored-to-deathly,
M.
I've been trying to read Ovid's Metamorphoses. I've got as far as the first volume; of fifteen.
All I know is that some people turned into cows and wheat or something, and there were some Gods.
I'm not a fan of poetry- I'd rather read something unrestricted by the conventions of rhyme, rhythm and the number of syllables society tells us to put in each line.
Would you tell anyone if I didn't read it all? I'm not sure how I'm feeling about all of this Greeky Latiny stuff, but there's only a couple more left on the list. But fifteen volumes in one book? A bit excessive, Mr O.
I think I've realised fundamentally why I'm doing this. One of my English Language teachers seems convinced that my whole class is stupid. For example:
'Where's Long John Silver from? Although I doubt any of you would know.'
I followed it up with a resounding:
'Fuck off, it's Treasure Island you prick,' except without the offensive stuff as I'm quite scared of him.
Yours bored-to-deathly,
M.
Thursday, 2 May 2013
Fables
Dear You,
Whilst rereading my earlier blog posts, I realised the my revelation of a purchase of teenage fiction may have made me appear a foolish ignoramus, and I am correcting this now.
For my birthday a couple of years ago, I was given '1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die'. A tall order, I thought. But although the title is somewhat demanding ('Must'? Really?), I have decided to take on this mammoth task, whilst telling you all about it. You lucky devil.
Anyhow, I bought the ebook version ('bought'; it was free, and I couldn't wait for the arrival of an actual book by post. I'm sorry) of the guide's first book; Aesop's Fables. By Aesop, obviously. I seem to recall that this was written in jail (I think) by Aesop, a slave. What I remember more fervently is that a travelling puppet theatre would often come into our primary school and perform some of the fables. What I've now realised, almost a decade later, is this:
They're not too great. Yes, they all end with a wise old man hobbling over and telling us a moral, but mostly they're just common sense; I mean, counting unhatched eggs is like watching a play you have yet to buy tickets for. But some of them are just plain ridiculous- come on, Aesop, how does 'he that has many friends, has no friends' even work? Maybe someone was just bitter about being picked last for discus.
If I had to pick my favourite fable title, I think that The Cat-Maiden takes the biscuit, purely for being such a bizarre concept. Top line, by far, has to be "untie the faggots". Although it is in regard to a pile of sticks, I still nearly soiled myself.
Next time, it's Ovid's 'Metamorphoses'. Let's hope it's not full of foolish mottos.
Yours fabled-outly,
M.
P.S. I know what you're thinking- '1001 Books? That's going to take you years!' Well yes, You, 19.25 years at a rate of one book per week, not counting the 14 books I have already read. But seeing as I did Aesop in an hour (cheeky), I think I'll be finished before my hair goes grey.
P.P.S. It wasn't that bad. I especially liked the moral of 'Men often applaud an imitation and hiss the real thing,' which was swiftly followed by a fable that opened with 'You must know that sometimes old women like a glass of wine.' Too true. One minor quibble, however, was the fact that almost every noun was capitalised, like Horse, Mosquitoes and Pot. It's not alright. Actually, I hope the Aesop estate doesn't sue me (irony very much intended).
Whilst rereading my earlier blog posts, I realised the my revelation of a purchase of teenage fiction may have made me appear a foolish ignoramus, and I am correcting this now.
For my birthday a couple of years ago, I was given '1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die'. A tall order, I thought. But although the title is somewhat demanding ('Must'? Really?), I have decided to take on this mammoth task, whilst telling you all about it. You lucky devil.
Anyhow, I bought the ebook version ('bought'; it was free, and I couldn't wait for the arrival of an actual book by post. I'm sorry) of the guide's first book; Aesop's Fables. By Aesop, obviously. I seem to recall that this was written in jail (I think) by Aesop, a slave. What I remember more fervently is that a travelling puppet theatre would often come into our primary school and perform some of the fables. What I've now realised, almost a decade later, is this:
They're not too great. Yes, they all end with a wise old man hobbling over and telling us a moral, but mostly they're just common sense; I mean, counting unhatched eggs is like watching a play you have yet to buy tickets for. But some of them are just plain ridiculous- come on, Aesop, how does 'he that has many friends, has no friends' even work? Maybe someone was just bitter about being picked last for discus.
If I had to pick my favourite fable title, I think that The Cat-Maiden takes the biscuit, purely for being such a bizarre concept. Top line, by far, has to be "untie the faggots". Although it is in regard to a pile of sticks, I still nearly soiled myself.
Next time, it's Ovid's 'Metamorphoses'. Let's hope it's not full of foolish mottos.
Yours fabled-outly,
M.
P.S. I know what you're thinking- '1001 Books? That's going to take you years!' Well yes, You, 19.25 years at a rate of one book per week, not counting the 14 books I have already read. But seeing as I did Aesop in an hour (cheeky), I think I'll be finished before my hair goes grey.
P.P.S. It wasn't that bad. I especially liked the moral of 'Men often applaud an imitation and hiss the real thing,' which was swiftly followed by a fable that opened with 'You must know that sometimes old women like a glass of wine.' Too true. One minor quibble, however, was the fact that almost every noun was capitalised, like Horse, Mosquitoes and Pot. It's not alright. Actually, I hope the Aesop estate doesn't sue me (irony very much intended).
Wednesday, 1 May 2013
Alas
To You,
So, through my cunning detective skills (and Facebook) I have determined the identity of mystery guy from yesterday. And his girlfriend.
I mean, that's fine. It was probably his nice clothes that did it really. I may as well become a spinster and knit hats for a living because I'm independent and don't need no man. And as I scrolled through his Facebook pictures I realised that I could do better.
Which is why I'm sitting here with a newly-empty tub of Ben and Jerry's.
Please don't judge me, You. I was young, I was foolish, it was yesterday. We all make mistakes; this was just one of those short flings. Admittedly it was a tad one-sided, and I think it was his fault that it ended.
I could do better. I could do better. I could do better.
M.
So, through my cunning detective skills (and Facebook) I have determined the identity of mystery guy from yesterday. And his girlfriend.
I mean, that's fine. It was probably his nice clothes that did it really. I may as well become a spinster and knit hats for a living because I'm independent and don't need no man. And as I scrolled through his Facebook pictures I realised that I could do better.
Which is why I'm sitting here with a newly-empty tub of Ben and Jerry's.
Please don't judge me, You. I was young, I was foolish, it was yesterday. We all make mistakes; this was just one of those short flings. Admittedly it was a tad one-sided, and I think it was his fault that it ended.
I could do better. I could do better. I could do better.
M.
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