concepts for a buntiful world
Thursday, June 29
I've got a job ...I've got a job..I've got a job.....I've got a job.....I've got a job......I've got a job......I've got a job......I've got a job...I've got a job...I've got a job...I've got a job.....I've got a job.....I've got a job...I've got a job.I've got a job..I've got a job..I've got a job..I've got a job..I've got a job..I've got a job.I've got a job.I've got a job.I've got a job.I've got a jobI've got a jobI've got a jobI've got a jobI've got a job...
tra la la
At the aforementioned place of fruit.
- posted by Buntifer @ 6/29/2006 10:14:00 pm
Thursday, June 22
Sorry I've been away so long folks...
Not that you mind massively, I'm sure. Most people have better things to do than read my brain dribble. (Except you, Mum ;)
I've bin busy. Really. Showcase, other show, and Cabaret, and trying to find another job.
Mooning Beagle Splodge has turned me down - apparently I'm not worth as much as I was last year. So I'm trying the alphabetically inclined and audibly oceanic venues and the venue we took "Kept Their Humanity" to for jobs. They are both interested, but I have a feeling that they won't pay enough either. Aah well, more time for slobbing round London. and perhaps visiting the French Branch of Chateau Norris.
But I have had a call from a Fruitful Theatre in Richmond, which could be interested, round fruit, theatre in the round, like that...hmmm... So fingers crossed for that, which is tomorrow.
I realise that I'm talking rubbish, but those of you who know what I'm talking about know what I'm talking about, know what I'm talking about. I just decided to make that sentence more complicated than strictly necessary, and those of you who don't, don't, innit?
And I did a home test for the Society for the Incredibly Brainy, which is named after a common kitchen appliance, "Spatula" being close, but smaller and less used for cooking and more for eating off. Wiki reckons it is the flat top surface of an altar, but I've heard it defined as Table more commonly.
Let it be said, I'm (according to the home test, which of course I could have cheated monstrously on) in the 99th percentile,(which if you are Westerly, lies on the same line as Mexico City, and if you are Easterly, is pretty near Bangkok) which means that I can join the table. It was like this when I was a kid. You ate in the kitchen till you were old enough, then you got to join the table where the grown ups ate. Then you realised it was more fun eating in the kitchen, and warmer, and meals came at sensible times, and then you realised that when you bought a house, you weren't going to be able to afford a kitchen you could eat in (unless, like me you perfected the art of dining while standing, preferably over the bin) and it was the knees or the dining table until I'm rich...rich I tell you...mwah ha ha ...oh shit, I'm not rich yet.
Anyroad. I should go before I start ranting about work and put something googleable in which might get me fired.
And in a turn up for the books, England are still in the FA Cup! And nobody's been killed yet by our hooligans. (Have they?)
In other news, I'm selling something tremendously exciting on ebay. It is far more exciting than buying something, I keep logging on and people have bid more... I'm going to be rich, I tell you, Rich! mwah ha ha h... bollocks. I'm selling some greaves.
And I've 7 people watching, and lots of bids..
They are tremendously lovely, and I would recommend them to anyone as very sexy clubbing wear, with a thong or a mask. Or, Mr Ranting, of the Gregorian type, they might just complement your cape to perfection, and add resonance to your battlefield stories. I mean, what would you do if you were just describing a selection of swords in front of you, with a picturesque ruin in the background, and some crazy cameraman, or producer (like Sonia Friedman - crazy...just look at her eyes, their like holes in the snow made by someone blowing very hot very strong arabian coffee through a straw) runs up to you and attacks you with one of them? You need to be able to defend yourself, and what better to defend your self with than some lovely greaves that will protect your legs as you kick them in the nose, disarm them with your toes and do the Historians War Dance on their chests, blooded with the warm juices of your victim.
Anyone think I'd make a salesman?
I could try subliminal advertising, only my html isn't so good, so if you could just look at the following sentence for long enough for it to sink into your subconscious, but not long enough for it to register on your conscious mind, that would be great.
Buy my greaves NOW!
I went into work the other day with the Brunette, or at least we got the same train. I was commenting on her lack of expertise moving through crowds of people, which is probably to do with her being to nice to barge them out of the way, and I came up with a metaphor I liked.
I move through crowds like a hot chainsaw through lasagne.
Or a hot chainsaw through melted butter, but without the flying fat. (I can't fly)
I'll just go now. I can tell you don't like me any more.
And frankly, I don't care.
(Ann Frankly, I shall lock myself in an attic)
or was it a cellar?
- posted by Buntifer @ 6/22/2006 03:38:00 pm
Thursday, June 15
Prescription drugs over the internet.
Now that's a presription for junk mail. Good job my email address isn't on the page, and that junk commenters seem not to have worked out how haloscan works.
I'm thinking of buying some Modafarin from this quality establishment. It is a drug that I read about recently in New Scientist, to which I have recently re-subscribed, making the most of my student status (until September) although what they will think of someone studying Stage Management subscribing beats me.
It is a drug which keeps you awake. I'm not narcoleptic, nor do I have trouble staying awake, but this is different. It isn't Red Bull on acid, it emphatically isn't amphetamine, it just makes you more awake, if you are already at 100% then it doesn't boost you further like amphetamines do. It is a pure stimulant. It doesn't have side effects to speak of, and there is no "come down" like there is on amphetamines or other stimulants (including Red Bull)
It doesn't even cost that much, about as much as Red Bull, although if it works for 8 hours then it is a lot cheaper than Red Bull, cos when I'm tired it would take three or four Red Bulls to keep me running at 100% through that lot.
It even lets you catch up sleep in small bits. Theoretically, you could postpone sleep for 40 hours, and then only need to catch up 16 hours sleep. That is the equivalent of waking up Monday, running through to Wednesday night, then getting an early night, and only needing to sleep that night to catch up.
Pretty good eh?
I only really want it for recreational use. I don't get vast amount of time off, and the ability to get off work on Friday and stay awake through the whole weekend, hit the sack Sunday afternoon, and still be fresh on Monday would be quite entertaining. I'd get a lot more done.
Methinks the Brunette might disapprove, and my mother too...
- posted by Buntifer @ 6/15/2006 10:10:00 pm
I can't decide whether it is sweet or pathetic how overjoyed football fans seem to be about us beating Trinidad and Tobago. I've got them shouting outside the flat, and it sounds like we trashed Germany 6 love or something, but no, we just scraped a win against those giants of the football world, Trindad and Tobago.
And don't try and tell me we didn't "scrape" the win. I kow it was 2-0, but we didn't have any points when I turned on at 80 minutes in, we scraped them in the last couple of minutes.
Rubbish, frankly, but, as the old saying says, little things please cretins.
- posted by Buntifer @ 6/15/2006 06:11:00 pm
Wednesday, June 14
Welcome back. You've been away a while. Me? No I've been here the whole time, waiting for you to return.
Ok, that's not going to wash is it. I've been away. We've had show weekend and shows the past week, so I has bin busy. Working for a director who, if there was any justice in the world, would have been beaten to death with his own liver a long long time ago.
He's from the generation that thought Technical Crew were beneath them. An anecdote in one of the Stage Management handbooks I have read tells of how a Stage Manager waas astounded to receive an invitation to a dinner with the leading actress and the rest of the cast, turned up at the house, and was expected to eat in the kitchen with the servants.
THis guy still lives in that age. Aah well, one day justice will come, and he'll drown to death in a cesspit.
Other than that I have very little news to report. I had a great idea for a play the other day, but I had decided it was rubbish by the time I got home. I did have a plot breakthrough in Disease, the third installment of my trilogy, so that was good.
And I have been mostly drinking shandy, which is very pleasant.
The heat we have had here has been vile. Sticky, hot and full of footballers. Apparently there is some football comeptition going on at the moment, the FA Cup or something. I was amused to note that the only piece I have seen so far was when I was in the pub the other day, drinking shandy and reading New Scientist, and I glanced up at the screen, only to see someone in yellow pretending to fall over the leg of someone in white, and missing by a mile, honestly. I can do a better impression of being hit by a bus while sitting in my lounge, and the bus would be nearer me than the guy wearing white was to the guy wearing yellow.
I didn't see if the yellow person got an award for his diving, or whether he was penalised for taking the mickey, but it summed up football for me yet again, something where boring people pretend desperately that something interesting is happening.
I digress. The heat. In a small studio theatre with a whole bunch of lights in the heat is quite crazy. I think we hit 40 the other day. I've been operating the show with my shirt off, which is putting the actors off, because they are the only people who can see me (being behind the audience) but keeps me fractionally cooler. I also have a fan running six inches away from my face, which manages to blow the sweat out of my eyes at any rate.
But I walked into Richmond yesterday, and halfway there it began to rain. I stood on the towpath and raised my arms and just waited as the rain grew stronger, pattering into the water, and gently soaking me. The split in the temperature of the air it brought was beautiful, and the smells it raises, that of over dry concrete or tarmac gratefully receiving succour, the dusty dampness of the ground underfoot, and the rich stink of cow parsely becoming sodden. The river looks beautiful in the rain as well, the surface coruscating in the sunlight, while a smell of slightly rancid seasides drifts out of the storm drains.
I stood for about ten minutes, laughing to myself and getting wetter, and then I noticed the police coming for me, so I ran away and hid in a box of oranges, which was being lorried to Birmingham, but luckily I managed to slip out of the van as it paused in Milton Keynes, and pickpocketed someone for enough cash to get back to the big city. I was still two hours early for the damn show as well.
- posted by Buntifer @ 6/14/2006 01:01:00 pm
Sunday, June 4
Fiction or Fantasy?
I was going to apologise for allowing Simon to post in my stead these past few days. I have little enough to talk about, and I would only really be whinging about the incompetence of my co-worker.
We had a good showcase, and then I went and got pissed, before being locked into the pub by armed police, and then going to play fives and having a rather good session despite not really having my hand-eye co-ordination up to scratch.
Ms Leaf-Salad over there -------------->
is going to be published - which is exciting for her.... watch this space, and probably her space too to find out more.
Raar raar raaar laa laa laa
Hmmm...after a cold, wet week, the weather has changed dramatically and is now baking hot and uncomfortably sweat making.
I really genuinely honestly have very little else to say. So there.
- posted by Buntifer @ 6/04/2006 12:41:00 pm