Tuesday 30 June 2009
Everything in my flat feels broken at the moment. I am ashamed about the amount of dust I sometimes I find objects caked in and now the latest thing to stop working is my turntable meaning I am unable to listen to and plough the hug piles of seven inch singles I appear to have amassed in some kind of trainspotter-esqe attempt to recapture my youth.
The euphoria that came with yesterday morning has unfortunately not followed through into today. Yesterday I peaked too soon; too early and lumbering around my flat today I already appear to be suffering from cabin fever.
It is distinctly noticeable how the back of the apartment is cooler than the front. Thems the logistics.
In theory I should be doing something about my car today but truly I just cannot be bothered and in my mind I have better things I feel I could be doing.
After a morning of listening to records (my vinyls!) and attempting to write about them for various websites (mainly Diskant and No Pictures) bored around lunchtime I head for refuge.
My idea of refuge appears to be to watch my download of Slumdog Millionaire. This movie has been universally lauded so you just know that it is going to be crap in some capacity because generally people club together to like just one thing it is usually moronic as it spreads itself thin and taps into some claptrap emotion that makes it a shared experience as it touches the right nerve. If anything it is just an exercise into mass marketing, a psychological experiment.
I watch the first thirty minutes of Slumdog Millionaire and are you fucking kidding me? What a pile of shit, and that is not just the pile he purposely jumps/drops into in order to get some guy’s autograph. At what point did the national consciousness decide it was all right to accept such reality/behaviour into our comfy existences. When the movie reaches an Oliver Twist-esqe moment and the villain is trying to convince one kid to blind his brother (the hero of the movie) it is just bollocks and I do not want to be politically correct enough to condone this movie.
(perhaps I did this yesterday)
As I return to writing I squeeze some out but the warm summer day is somewhat stifling and distractive. Flicking through films I have yet to watch I come across Ask The Dust which I figure should hopefully inspire and kickstart me back into writing today.
I never did finish reading Ask The Dust. This was the movie that I was reading when I nearly ended up in that threesome in Holland Park that royally freaked me out and genuinely scared me. I remember in the aftermath, in the close shave, being asked what I was reading and I just mumbled some shit about the book. When I got home I literally put it down and never picked it up again.
The movie version obviously isn’t so great. I don’t really see what Bukowski saw in this guy, sure he is earnest but he was scandalous and as a result not so interesting. I guess the fact he is played by Colin Farrell in the movie goes against but the whole starving writer vibe existing hand to mouth serves to titillate in its own way as any potential writer can empathise and associate.
After the movie I hardly feel inspired. It was actually a struggle to finish and the weak Hemingway-esqe ending just didn’t really rub.
Fortunately I do wind up writing into the evening, mainly concentrating on music reviews rather than any book or blog action. The nation appears to be losing its shit for Wimbledon but it is just too hot to be bothered with that. Serena really does have a great pair though.
Today I am loving the Andy Nice record “The Secrets Of Me.” The strings suit my mood and the weather so perfectly today, the pace slows when I listen to this record and as things take order they begin to make sense. Then I put on the Doomed Bird Of Providence record and finally I click with the record.
At 9PM BBC2 shows a conspiracy theory documentary about 7/7. I find the show very pro-Islam, more pro-Islam than is comfortable. It appears nobody wants to take ownership for/of the actions of those four lunatics that day and scarily a lot of people are just more than happy to be suspicious of the government as being responsible. I can tell you now despite all those facts presented by all the bedroom fanatics featured in this show the 7/7 bombings were the unfortunate results of crazed individuals that got lucky by fluke. Sure they planned their efforts extensively but at the same time these guys weren’t brain surgeons.
After Big Brother the night ends with The Royal Tenenbaums. I really struggle with this movie these days, I remember driving to Ipswich with Chris to watch it at the cinema when it was released and really loving the movie but watching it again now the pace really drags and the characters just aren’t colourful or quirky enough. Maybe it is due to the movie being the least believable and funny of Wes Anderson’s movies. I am asleep before the end of it.