Punchdrunk Lovesick Singalong

I lost count how many times I've edited this post. I've been ill.
Firstly, relationships. Let's get this one out of the way. This is some dialogue from The Squid And The Whale, a film which makes me feel pretty lucky to have married parents.

Sophie: [about The Metamorphosis, by Franz Kafka] Yeah. I mean, it's gross when he turns into the bug, but I love how matter of fact everything is.

Walt: Yeah, it's very Kafkaesque.

Sophie: [She looks at him oddly and laughs] 'Cause it's written by Franz Kafka.

Walt: Right. I mean, clearly.

I love this. I burst out laughing. Unfortunately, I'm sleeping with someone who just doesn't get jokes about literature. Another example in a recent episode of Shameless, which he made me watch (it's actually alright), two of the chav teenagers get kidnapped by a drug dealer crazy woman, and she makes a little joke, "Sorry for going all Papa Fritzl on you." which I, of course, being the media-savvy evil bastard that I am, found this pretty funny too. He laughed when a character tripped up in a later scene. What the hell am I doing? I don't want to sound like an arrogant prick. Because, I do sound like an arrogant prick. I don't have anything in common with this guy. As I sort of outlined in a previous post, I want someone who is fucking intelligent. O, Carlisle.

I'm sounded very elitist and superior and that. Ah well. Need to learn to say no, sometimes.

Secondly, crying. I have never cried for this guy. I have for John, Jonny, and even Chris. But this guy, none of that. I just want rid of him. He makes me happy, yes, but I get bored. I should stay single until uni. He won't read this, but he deserves to. He hasn't done anything wrong, he's just not right. Wait. I was meant to be writing about crying. Crying. I cried at House Of Sand And Fog last night. It was very, very upsetting. I'm not sure where the love of depressing films comes from. Watching something that you know will upset you being ultimately rewarding? I don't get it. I did really, really enjoy it though. Odd. Nothing much happens in the film. Then, suicide, prison and depression. Works a charm.

I'm still on crying, here: I think the last time I posted was on a Sunday. The following day, I bumped into Chris, the plain boring dude I'd been with for over a year. This was August 2008 to October 2009, on and off. I'm still not over him. I have no idea why. There are literally no good things about this guy. He's just so meh. We arranged to meet up on the Tuesday of that week. I'd convinced myself we'd be getting back together. He stood me up. I was slightly devastated. I have since realised that I was being a complete fool, so that's all fine. Around 7PM on the day he'd stood me up, it slowly dawned on me that I was being stood up. I had Sigur Rós on the iPod, Viðrar vel til loftárása (just found out this means "Good weather for an airstrike" in Icelandic) (and the video is pretty amazing) and I was going to make myself a cup of tea to cheer up. As I was standing up from this horrible desk, I went to grab my phone without thinking. When I realised how pathetic I was being, I burst out crying. It feels good. I've also cried at two Phillip Reeve books (Infernal Devices and A Darkling Plain), the last episode of Battlestar Galactica, Monsters, Inc., Running With Scissors, Requiem For A Dream, Synecdoche, New York, and loads more I can't quite remember. I'm usually an emotional retard. Media gets to me, somehow.

Third. I'M TRYING TO MAKE MUSIC. But I usually fail. Even though I sometime get told my one song is alright. Myself and a friend, Jonny (not the same one I mentioned before), have pooled together some money and are buying a Korg Nanopad, a drum synth pad thing. It might work. So that's going slowly. We've done half a song, but we need a singer. Oh, and supposedly we're a noise band. Don't ask. A real drummer would be nice,  but from experience they're always fucking idiots who get in the way. Sorry for being mean, potential drummer, but you're probably annoying. So yeah, computers are the way to go.

Sorry for the absence. Twitter has killed this blog. I don't feel the need to write about things I can now usually sum up in a sentence. Which is wrong, of course. See ya.

We've got everything

I broke up with my boyfriend. Where I think Sigur Rós's Olsen Olsen flute solo is beautiful, he thought DJ Ironik's latest tune (complete with high-pitched synth voice on backing vocals) was the saddest, most emotion-filled song he'd ever heard.
So yeah, really not feeling that one. I let him down lightly. I feel no sadness, and for some reason am finding myself wanting the bastard ex back. You know the one I mean.

Jonny, a friend from Sixth Form, is starting a film project for his art course at uni, and of course has heard about my amazing acting prowess and asked me to be in it and also help with media type stuff. Sounds exciting. This said, we only have ten weeks to film what he hopes will be at least a forty-five minute feature. Ambitious, much? What helps is the premise: a mockumentary about a failed rock star. It has been done before, but he's got a ton of original ideas which should help. We're also going to record a couple of songs to act as a soundtrack. Lots of work, but sounds lovely.

Open the Floodgates

I live with my grandma. I've let you all know this before, right? My work's being especially harsh with hours, meaning basically I have none this week, again. Which leaves me a bit skint. So, she wants me to go to the job centre and get jobseeker's allowance. We went in the other day to ask about it, and you should have seen the state of the assorted dull-eyed chavs and their pregnant teenage girlfriends. I know that there are perfectly normal people who sign on for perfectly legitimate reasons, but seriously. These are the worst Carlisle has to offer (which, as you may have guessed, are pretty bad).

Did I mention I'm in the Crucible, at the Green Room? probably not. I should blog more. I'm playing Herrick, a character in the third and last acts who is pretty much just a drunk prison warden. I don't have an over-abundance of lines, but so many fucking stage directions. Oh, and I left my script in a pub after rehearsals last night, dammit. what was my point here?
oh! yeah! As the rehearsals are three nights a week, and then we do a full week's run at the end of this month, which doesn't really allow me to get a night-time bar job til April. And that's a shame, because it's all I'm good at.

Also, I need to find two monologues for an audition to Arden theatre in Manchester (look! my future!), one from Shakespeare and another from a post-1950s published play. I didn't quite read the last part properly, and started learning this from Mean Girls for a bit of a laugh.

I need to find a band too. Do I say I'm an indie bassist? indie seems to mean Coldplay and the Kings of Leon at the moment (they're terrible, by the way). alternative? alternative bassist? That doesn't sound right.

Don't bore us
Get in the chorus
Open the floodgates

We want the good bits
Without the bullshit
And no heartache

Hold on, hold on, hold on

No pain and
No suffering
And no one gets hurt

We absolve you
We absolve you
Open the floodgates

Hold on