Sunday 1 March 2009
Sunday morning and the dull has returned. This is where the energy saving light bulb falls down – in order to decently light my flat today I am finding I am having to turn on every light in the apartment just to light it sufficiently. Surely the energy saved by one bulb is now nullified by the requirement to switch on another. Makes you think.
I said a prayer last night that today I awaken with an energy to write with, to pick me up and make this a productive and energetic day. The jury is still out that accomplishment.
The soundtrack to my morning is the Deerhunter CD that Stevo burned and gave to me on Tuesday. Its better than I was expecting but not really the kind of music a person could really lose their shit to.
I am still sneezing so I chose the opportunity to finish off watching Thriller In Manilla so as not to exert myself too much (as if that is ever a risk/possibility). To compliment this action I find myself tearing into the huge Toblerone that dad brought back from Seville, tearing into it Alan Partridge style.
Today is another dull Sunday but thankfully/fortunately I actually manage to write, writing a lot on the Gestures chapter for the older Muslim sister. I really wish she was still in my life, if only she answered my texts and emails. If only her sister had not been crackers and ruined everything. If only the youngest boss at work hadn’t been such a sleazebag. If only I had been more like him, a sport fucker bordering on date rapist. Fun fun fun back in those days. Would you believe me if I said all these reminiscences add about 15,000 words to the draft. High five.
The writing takes me back to 2004, in comparison to now that was living. I would come away from the weekends with anecdotes and experiences. With the knowledge I almost possess now I could have hitched up several times over with one Essex skank after another. Instead I have spent the last six months casually chasing foreign church goers. Was it because it was supposed to be easier sport? Would they have mothered me and that was what I was desiring?
Regardless of all this, with all the addition I begin to believe in the book again. Its girth is vast even if the length is wrong – much like my own member. There was a fire to the stuff I wrote and included today though, it did not bore me to read it instead it enthused and enflamed in the most positive manner and I genuinely think it contains the beginning of something good that people would enjoy reading. That is not ego squawking, that is some kind of possible fact.
I take a break from writing to watch Nothing Lasts Forever. I ordered this DVD from a dodgy website online at the beginning of the year and ever since it arrived I have doubted whether the DVD-R it is burned onto even works.
Nothing Lasts Forever is a terrific film starring Zach Galligan as a wannabe artist heading to a fictionalised time of turbulence in New York that is made to look like the fifties. The film was made to look as if it was made in the golden, filmed in black and white and made to look extra grainy. It was actually made in 1984 by the guys from Saturday Night Live which would explain the cameos from Dan Aykroyd and Bill Murray. Even though the disc failed to work in/on my crappy DVD player (purchased in 2000) I am able to rip it into an avi file and it turns out very watchable and as a result very enjoyable. There are legal wranglings that keep this movie off the shelves which is a real shame as it is a joy to watch even if it isn’t Citizen Kane.
From here I proceed to watch the Face To Face interview with Tony Hancock that is housed in the eight disc Tony Hancock Collection that I bought just for this. It is as sad as everyone ever claimed it to be and when Hancock says “the sad reality is that you cannot get romantic about a character such as mine” it resonates throughout my mind.
On a brighter note for today my left foot feels better and walking no longer feels as if it is on a bed of glass.
Evening I head over to the olds for the Sunday lunch ritual, today arriving late. I arrive in the scary knowledge/reality that I had left my Facebook account open on his/their computer and the old man had been in/on it. Fortunately he does not really know how to work Facebook and would have learned little. Or so I think as he proceeds to quiz me about the film I watched this morning.
Sunday is Sunday as the remainder of the afternoon is spent watching Man Utd vs Spurs in the Coke Cup final (or whatever it is currently called). This is a timely reminder just how tacky football has become, especially at the close with the cup collection and celebration by Man Utd. This competition needs to be taken out back and put out of its misery. I remember the Zenith Data Systems and Simod Cups and this current Carling Cup competition has nothing on them.
When I return home in the evening it is to a rare Sunday evening with nothing worth watching on TV. This is a wind down ritual passed through the ages. I look to my collection of unwatched DVDs and I cannot believe that not one of them appeals to me to watch at this. What do I order so much cheap shit when I get bored at work – the DVDs are in the sale for a reason it seems.
So beyond having a bath to cleanse my soul after a crunching weekend I end up watching the Valentines Day episode of Saturday Night Live with Alec Baldwin as guest host hitting comedy gold first playing the missing fourth Jonas Brothers (the week’s music guests) and culminating in a visual Wii joke about wanking that slays me as one of the funniest sketches I have seen on the show this year.
The weekend closes with falling asleep to the Thick Of It DVD which sadly fails to amuse or thrill me at this time. Hopefully this is more a reflection on me rather than the show and when In The Loop arrives it will be killer stuff.