I realise, having re-read my uninspired, dull and worthless post from earlier today, that I perhaps need to dump, just dump, just get rid of shite that is cluttering up my head. I feel stuffed up, my sinuses are affecting my brain, and both are full of crap, so here's hoping that if I evacuate enough of the shite that is currently swimming round my head I will feel better and perhaps start producing some more worthy words soon.

I've been feeling rubbish for a while, I don't usually get ill, and I never get colds, although what I have at the mo may well be a cold, I don't know, cos I never get them. It started off with a nasty sore throat and moved down to my chest, where it fired up the mucoid industry, which had been awaiting its chance to flood the market of my body with it's sticky schlep, and then relocated into my sinuses, where it either dribbles at innopportune moments of prevents me from respiring, both of which encourage me to sniff, which I reckon shoots bolts of stulitifying mucoid death into my brain pan, slowing my mental faculties to the point where they can't move at all for being soaked in snot.

Nice.

Devil Wears Prada - fairly rubbish
Lord of War - Ok, but no great shakes
Brick - Fucking fantastic
Last Kiss - Zach Braff is shit, but watchable film (just)
Accepted - Shiter than expected.

The Brunette's birthday is fast approaching, and while I reckon ten pounds of bacon is a wicked birthday present, she doesn't, so it's back to the drawing board on that front.

I am feeling steeped in a general malaise, where I don't want to go to the gym, I don't want to write, I don't want to go to work, or to work once I'm there, I don't even want to play on the xbox, I just don't want to anything. I can sum up how I feel physically at the moment with the phrase, "Don't want to..."

It's kind of worrying, cos I don't usually feel like this, it also allows me an excuse for this post, because as much as my conscious mind is urging, "Type, damn you, type, just get it out." My unconscious, or subconscious, or any psyche terror group that wants to claim responsibility for my current state is saying, "Don't want to." Which would probably be their response to a suggestion that they take responsibility for anything.

I have mixed feelings about the bus ticket forgers who've recently been busted. On one hand they are bastards who have been making money by charging commuters for dodgy bus tickets, but on the other hand, transport in London is massively overpriced, Ken has been practising his ass reaming for years, and it is coming to perfection with the double hammer of congestion charge AND ridiculously over priced public transport. Imagine someone who could charge eight pounds a day to drive in a city - what a fucker. Now imagine someone who is able to make that worthwhile by charging such extortionate prices for public transport that eight quid a day is actually pretty good value - what a twat.

Perhaps my malaise (sounds like a new type of gourmet mayonnaise) is to do with the fact that I have been feeling remarkably like "the man" has got to me to such an extent that I no longer feel like sticking it to him very much any more. I just want to come home and watch tv. A regular, semi fulfilling job and a workaday life have drained me and left me feeling humdrum, and that's annoying me. Which is a good start I guess, because at least it means I haven't entirely accepted being humdrum yet.

There are simply a catalogue of minor woes that have been sucking energy from me, small inefficiencies at work (no, I'm not going to give examples to anyone) and that fact that the Brunette and I are paying out approximately twelve times my annual salary (before tax) for a house that's about as big as my parents garages, and which has worse decor, and the fact that our lawyers are being shite, and that once we do get into the house it's going to take us months to do the place up because we both work such stupid job hours, which with the weather, which is frankly pants at the moment, and the fact that I ostensibly have a long list of things I must do are all adding up to create a big pile of "I can't be bothered to do anything now!"

That sentence was so long I lost track of how it started, so if it ended badly, I'm sorry. I'm mind dumping, I can't be expected to go back and check things to make sure they make sense! You're lucky I'm trying my best with teh typos, instead of letting them pile up.

I actually extracted them all and will leave a small pile at the bottom of the post for anyone who wants one to take away.

And blogger are still being twats.

Please take one:

qwweeeeertryuioppalskllkdjfhhgnnnlllmnxvbvbvzxlklklklklllllwtfhfjjksa@@#:L:;##
- posted by Buntifer @ 2/27/2007 05:27:00 pm

 
I'm twenty six now
and it feels very much the same.

Housing seems to be proceeding reasonably smoothly, fingers crossed, touch wood and all that crap.

I'm too tired to be blogging much at the mo - I'm struggling through a script for Night Warrior at the mo, and have purchased Scott Mcloud's "Understanding comics - the invisible art" to aid me, on the recommendation of Mr Ranting. It's very good, very good indeed, although it would be more useful for me if I were an artist.

Ebaumsworld behind the times again with the Vader sessions, which are nevertheless, still hugely worth watching.
- posted by Buntifer @ 2/27/2007 07:51:00 am

 
Snow
again.

Soon to be slush.

So, the Brunette and I are buying a house. So far, touch wood, everything seems to be proceeding fairly smoothly. Once the offer was accepted there was a brief period of hell where we had all sorts of people calling telling us they all needed the original copies of our last three months bank statements and our passports sent to them in the next three hours or the house would explode, which, being that we have three passports each, was fine, although I can't remember which named passport I gave to which person. Now they've all been paid they've fucked off and left us to our own devices, which on my part has consisted of drawing scale outlines of the rooms and cutting pieces of paper to the same size as our furniture and seeing where we can put it, which has been quite good (I hadn't realised that the bedroom is actually quite big) and also quite bad ( can't see any way to put both couches in the living room.)

I have also designed a desk which is all singing and all dancing, and intend to build it as soon as I'm sure this is actually going to happen. I am concerned that the Brunette is radically underestimating the cost of a kitchen, which I don't particularly want to be installing myself, but may end up having to, because we can't afford the 7 grand (minimum) it is likely to cost to have one put in by someone else.

At the LBFBTV we are finishing up the show, which is very nice, but I want to make a public service announcement for anyone who reads this and goes to the theatre.

IT IS CONSIDERED IMPOLITE TO MOVE THE FUCKING SET WHEN IN THE THEATRE UNLESS YOU ARE A TECHNICIAN OR STAGE MANAGER

The audience at the LBFBTV are very rude when it comes to this, they seem to think that if they wish to get somewhere, it is perfectly permissable to push things to one side, or to pull them further on stage. Someone last night pushed something about eight inches further on stage, spilling the water in the item as she did so, and left it there. When I went to replace the item she started making a fuss.

"I've paid a lot of money for this seat." she started.

I had to explain that the items on the set were important to the show and where they were on the stage had actually been chosen and marked fairly carefully to that the actors could move around the items. I was unable to explain that twelve pounds is not a lot of money for a theatre seat, and in any case she had chosen to sit behind the damn thing, when she could easily have sat elsewhere in the space. It's just a fucking liberty, frankly.

Blogger is still asking for a bombing. I must point out however, to make the Brunette happier (she seems to think I'm going to get arrested for commenting about bombs due to the local nutter who is mailing people explosive literature) that I have no intention of mailing my bomb to google, I shall take the opportunity to visit California, and deliver it by hand.

I think I've figured out why she bought the Xbox as well. It's to distract me from the fact that I'm buying a house with her.



- posted by Buntifer @ 2/08/2007 08:48:00 am