Merry Christmas to you all, my lovely otterminions, and a Happy New Year!
As we all know, New Year is a time for many things. It is a time for loving and sharing and caring and giving, but mostly it is a reason to drink a lot and make promises to yourself that you don't really intend to keep (naturally, this makes it one of my favourite occasions). Since I've been on holiday, I have missed my colleagues a lot. We spend so much time together on a daily basis that they feel like my extended family (also possibly because some of them feed me like a mother hen tending to one runty chick and in my simple book, food = love) and the shock of spending my mornings alone with my PS3 has caused me to reminisce more than I normally would.
There were a couple of different moments during the past month which I'd like to talk about here, because they amused me greatly. The first took me quite by surprise, one cold Wednesday morning.
Colleague: Do you have a moment?
Me: Sure, what's up?
Colleague: I can't find my Blu Tack.
Me: Um...
Colleague: On my phone.
Me: Your what?
Colleague: My Blu Tack.
Me: Do you mean your Bluetooth?
Colleague: Yes, that.
I honestly couldn't make this stuff up if I tried. Keeping a straight face was incredibly difficult and required a superhuman amount of precision and willpower, so I gave up and simply laughed hysterically at her for ten minutes or so. Which leads me to to the next anecdote, featuring the unfortunate but delicious power of Chickenlust. Please let me explain, before you begin to edge away, that this has nothing to do with a lust for live chickens. Stop edging! You were edging!
The Chickenlust is something that happens to me once I have reached a particular stage of drunknness. Now, those of you who know me well (and since I write about my life here, I assume that's pretty much all of you - with the possible exception of my parents who managed to buy me something I am allergic to for Christmas, bless their hearts) will know that once I hit drinks 6 through 8 I start to think about chicken. Any meat will suffice, really, but for some reason chicken will be the main focus of my obsession. I will talk incessantly about chicken, make every effort to obtain some chicken - often through elaborate plans better suited to an episode of Pinky and the Brain. My desire for chicken at this point is so strong that Laura Dern could walk through the room naked and I probably wouldn't notice unless she was covered in grilled fillets. My friends have learned to anticipate and dread the Chickenlust with all the nervousness of watching a grenade bounce into the room and roll under a couch.
Me: So, in essence, that is the Chickenlust. I don't even really remember it, but apparently it happens a lot.
Colleague: Interesting. But tell me, have you ever eaten an Easter Egg while in the bath?
Me: Um... I can't say that I have.
Colleague: IT'S A RACE AGAINST TIME!
Me: Ooh! Challenge accepted.
I'm making a note of this now and in a few months, if I remember, I will carry out the above experiment and report back. New Years' Resolution 1 - Do More Science. It's for the good of all of us, except the ones who are dead.
Showing posts with label Laura Dern. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Laura Dern. Show all posts
Thursday, 29 December 2011
Tuesday, 13 December 2011
The Electric Kool-Aid Blanket Test
I recently bought an electric blanket for myself, because the windows in my flat appear to be made of rice paper and let in a draft that could power a windmill. It's nice to crank the blanket up before bed and then slide into a mass of hot, steamy blanket soup. I find it soothing, like a mug of warm milk, or the sight of Laura Dern's beautiful face. The Fleetch, however, reacted quite differently on her first meeting with the blanket. In hindsight, given all that I know of her, I really should have seen this coming.
Me: Go on, try it.
Fleetch: I'm a little afraid.
Me: Don't be. It's a beautiful thing. Modern technology is awesome.
Fleetch: (putting her hand under the duvet) Oh. Oh my GOD.
Me: I know.
Fleetch: Sweet lord of all that is warm and comforting!
Me: I know.
Fleetch: (in wonder) It's like slipping your hand into an angel's vagina!
Me: (staring in appalled fascination)....Um.
Fleetch: (getting into my bed) It's like being inside a Tauntaun! Sexually! With your momma!
Me: ....Are you aware that the things you say often turn aggressively sexual, quite quickly?
Fleetch: Shut your beautiful mouth. This is between me and the blanket.
Me: Please step away from the bed.
Fleetch: (crooning and turtling inside the duvet) I love you, blanket. I'll never leave you.
Me: I'm going out for a while. Don't do anything to, with, on or around the blanket while I'm gone.
Fleetch: (turtling further) I can't make any promises.
Me: .....Dammit, fleetch.
Me: Go on, try it.
Fleetch: I'm a little afraid.
Me: Don't be. It's a beautiful thing. Modern technology is awesome.
Fleetch: (putting her hand under the duvet) Oh. Oh my GOD.
Me: I know.
Fleetch: Sweet lord of all that is warm and comforting!
Me: I know.
Fleetch: (in wonder) It's like slipping your hand into an angel's vagina!
Me: (staring in appalled fascination)....Um.
Fleetch: (getting into my bed) It's like being inside a Tauntaun! Sexually! With your momma!
Me: ....Are you aware that the things you say often turn aggressively sexual, quite quickly?
Fleetch: Shut your beautiful mouth. This is between me and the blanket.
Me: Please step away from the bed.
Fleetch: (crooning and turtling inside the duvet) I love you, blanket. I'll never leave you.
Me: I'm going out for a while. Don't do anything to, with, on or around the blanket while I'm gone.
Fleetch: (turtling further) I can't make any promises.
Me: .....Dammit, fleetch.
Wednesday, 28 September 2011
The Continuation Of The Human Race
This is a guest post I wrote for Taming Insanity (found here http://www.taminginsanity.com/) yesterday, but I figured I should also include it on my own site. Otters like things to be kept in small neat bundles, where we can keep an eye on them. Imagine the horror if one of my posts was caught fondling one of her posts. The scandal! We'd never hear the end of it. And with that in mind, please enjoy....
Oh, babies. If they were being marketed, the tag would say something like "People, made by people" or perhaps "Too much time on your hands? Oversleeping? Try our new BABY range!" Perhaps that's just how I've seen them for most of my life - as a wailing, screaming, weeing-in-the-supermarket-aisle majority, rather than the adorable burbling minority who undoubtedly never throw soft foods and instead settle for grinning happily at old ladies on the bus - but as I get older, my views are changing somewhat.
My internetfriend Taming Insanity asked (begged, really, and you know I can't resist anyone who makes sad puppy eyes) her fellow bloggers to help her out as she's going to be too busy to post much, what with being heavily pregnant and all. I'm personally grateful - she's populating the planet so I don't have to. Thanks for taking one for the team, bro.
It's not that I don't want to have kids, necessarily - I do like children and am surprisingly good with them (possibly because they think I am one of them and are, in a manner similar to wolves, more inclined to accept me as part of the pack) but I feel like I need a couple of things to happen first. I need to find a woman with child-bearing hips (because I'm shaped like Justin Bieber, if Justin Bieber had an awesome rack and slightly more feminine eyebrows) to birth my litter. I need to give up most of the fun but dangerous stuff I like doing now. And I need to have an actual career instead of a job, preferably involving blogging, otter-related banter or being Laura Dern's wardrobe fitter.
This brings me very briefly to something I saw recently in the local newspaper about Sarah Jessica Parker's new film, probably called I Can't Act But I'm Inexplicably Cast In These Roles Anyway, but I digress. Her character in this film is touted as being a "hard working mother who juggles her lovable kids, her architect husband and her own well-paid investment job". I'll be honest. I was confused. Firstly, quite a lot of people manage to have kids, a partner and a job. Surely there is more to the plot than that? Of course, I'm not fool enough to try to answer that question by actually parting with my money or giving up two precious hours of my life for such drivel, but all the same I'd like to know what happens. Secondly, why is SHE the only one juggling these things? Presumably her husband is also juggling the same amount of pressure - although I hear being an architect is an super easy job, with minimum effort required - unless he's a mostly absent father figure (in which case, she won't need to juggle any part of him, which should at least cut down on her stressful schedule).
In any case, the mention of this Future Baby made me wonder how different its life will be from mine, with a grand total of 26 years between us. He or she will grow up with the internet an as accepted tool of communciation. I didn't start using the internet until I was at high school, which means that I grew up in a time where you generally had to go to a library if you wanted to educate yourself on a specific topic. He or she will grow up with completely different childhood television - missing out on such classics as 'Rainbow', 'Button Moon', 'Fraggle Rock', 'Count Duckula' and so much more. God, how I love Count Duckula. In a platonic way, you know. He's not, like, the Count from 'Sesame Street' or anything, who I've always maintained has a slightly sexy edge to him. It might be the cape, the accent or the casual OCD he displays. Memo to those attempting to date an otter - owning a cape will assist you greatly in the wooing process.
This is all serving to make me feel rather old, and has the odd twin effect of reminding me I haven't done anything stupid lately. (Hmm. I have a pack of napkins, a tub of Golden Syrup and a box of matches in my cupboard. Let's see how inventive I can be) It's a toast to you, Future Baby. Hopefully by the time you're my age, science will have stopped dicking about with medicine and started working on better hoverboards. We can but hope.
Oh, babies. If they were being marketed, the tag would say something like "People, made by people" or perhaps "Too much time on your hands? Oversleeping? Try our new BABY range!" Perhaps that's just how I've seen them for most of my life - as a wailing, screaming, weeing-in-the-supermarket-aisle majority, rather than the adorable burbling minority who undoubtedly never throw soft foods and instead settle for grinning happily at old ladies on the bus - but as I get older, my views are changing somewhat.
My internetfriend Taming Insanity asked (begged, really, and you know I can't resist anyone who makes sad puppy eyes) her fellow bloggers to help her out as she's going to be too busy to post much, what with being heavily pregnant and all. I'm personally grateful - she's populating the planet so I don't have to. Thanks for taking one for the team, bro.
It's not that I don't want to have kids, necessarily - I do like children and am surprisingly good with them (possibly because they think I am one of them and are, in a manner similar to wolves, more inclined to accept me as part of the pack) but I feel like I need a couple of things to happen first. I need to find a woman with child-bearing hips (because I'm shaped like Justin Bieber, if Justin Bieber had an awesome rack and slightly more feminine eyebrows) to birth my litter. I need to give up most of the fun but dangerous stuff I like doing now. And I need to have an actual career instead of a job, preferably involving blogging, otter-related banter or being Laura Dern's wardrobe fitter.
This brings me very briefly to something I saw recently in the local newspaper about Sarah Jessica Parker's new film, probably called I Can't Act But I'm Inexplicably Cast In These Roles Anyway, but I digress. Her character in this film is touted as being a "hard working mother who juggles her lovable kids, her architect husband and her own well-paid investment job". I'll be honest. I was confused. Firstly, quite a lot of people manage to have kids, a partner and a job. Surely there is more to the plot than that? Of course, I'm not fool enough to try to answer that question by actually parting with my money or giving up two precious hours of my life for such drivel, but all the same I'd like to know what happens. Secondly, why is SHE the only one juggling these things? Presumably her husband is also juggling the same amount of pressure - although I hear being an architect is an super easy job, with minimum effort required - unless he's a mostly absent father figure (in which case, she won't need to juggle any part of him, which should at least cut down on her stressful schedule).
In any case, the mention of this Future Baby made me wonder how different its life will be from mine, with a grand total of 26 years between us. He or she will grow up with the internet an as accepted tool of communciation. I didn't start using the internet until I was at high school, which means that I grew up in a time where you generally had to go to a library if you wanted to educate yourself on a specific topic. He or she will grow up with completely different childhood television - missing out on such classics as 'Rainbow', 'Button Moon', 'Fraggle Rock', 'Count Duckula' and so much more. God, how I love Count Duckula. In a platonic way, you know. He's not, like, the Count from 'Sesame Street' or anything, who I've always maintained has a slightly sexy edge to him. It might be the cape, the accent or the casual OCD he displays. Memo to those attempting to date an otter - owning a cape will assist you greatly in the wooing process.
This is all serving to make me feel rather old, and has the odd twin effect of reminding me I haven't done anything stupid lately. (Hmm. I have a pack of napkins, a tub of Golden Syrup and a box of matches in my cupboard. Let's see how inventive I can be) It's a toast to you, Future Baby. Hopefully by the time you're my age, science will have stopped dicking about with medicine and started working on better hoverboards. We can but hope.
Thursday, 18 August 2011
The Hath Strikes Back
The best way to describe this post is to point out that my friends and I have some very odd conversations at times, or at least, conversations that start off normally and then swiftly devolve into surrealism and insults. (And to think I almost published my newest blog post in progress, which was about the Festival. Heh. This one is much more fun) As an example, I found the below email from last year in my Sent folder and really can't remember why I thought it was so funny at the time (even though it undoubtedly was)
“Dear Life,
I never want to give you up. I never want to let you down. I never want to run around and hurt you. I never want to make you cry. I never want to say goodbye. I never want to lose my robot arm made of grain.
Love RickRoll“
Hmm. It's an enigma wrapped in a mystery surrounded by a RickRoll, that's for sure.
In any case the following conversation took place shortly after a discussion about the newest Anne Hathaway film, which if you have read the previous Hath-related post, you will know already that one of my friends has a deep and undying love for the deer-eyed actress which almost rivals my love for The Dern. I also made the mistake of permitting my friends to choose their names, which as you will see was a great (terrible) idea.
Me: I named one of my GFs from Final Fantasy VIII “Hathaway” in your honour, Tanyakit – she’s a naked Siren who sits on a rock and damages enemies by singing. Ha.
Tanyakit: That is a great honour, indeed
Me: Oh yes, the honour is indeed noteworthy. In addition, I have named my brutal, rock-smashing, horned minotaur-like firebeast “Rachel”. I think we all know who I am referring to.
Tanyakit: Wow, really? So you would say that’s an accurate description of McAdam?
Me: Actually, it’s about as nice as I can manage to be. She is pretty powerful though, and her Hellfire attack simply squishes everyone. It’s just a shame she’s so homely and barrel-chested.
Tanyakit: She is really not that special in real life either. I am pretty sure she suffers from the same too-much-mouth affliction as the Hath, and Jennifer Garner…and Julia Roberts…and…pretty much everyone else.
Me: So true, so true. Except at least Hathaway has some redeeming qualities, like her ridiculously overlarge anime eyes, and her ability to act a maximum of one and a half emotions at any given time, whereas Rachel brings nothing to the table.
D$ha: Not even side boob?
Me: (reluctantly) Well...she might bring a little sideboob. But it’s inadequate sideboob. The quality is below poor.
Tanyakit: Does she have enough to quantify side boob? All I know about McAdam is she walked out of a Vanity Fair shoot because they wanted her to show some actual skin. She is meant to be quite strait laced and prudish, or at least that’s her image.
D$ha: (whispering) BOOBS.
Wetsoks: BOOBS!
The Sarahinator: Really, guys?
At this point Other Half jumped in, although since we have been split up for some time I shall have to refer to her as Ex Other Half (although not Ex OH in case people mistake it for a Gossip Girls reference)
Ex Other Half: I can't take this anymore! She has been naked in at least 3 films I have seen her in.
Me: That’s true, you did have that desktop wallpaper with a naked Rachel on it, thus proving that she has been naked on film. She has not, however, managed to look attractive, or to radiate any sexuality beyond the capabilities of an ordinary household sponge.
Me: That’s true, you did have that desktop wallpaper with a naked Rachel on it, thus proving that she has been naked on film. She has not, however, managed to look attractive, or to radiate any sexuality beyond the capabilities of an ordinary household sponge.
Tanyakit: You obviously haven’t got our sponge. Its always making bedroom eyes at me.
Me: I get mine from Tesco.
Tanyakit: See, that's your problem right there.
Friday, 8 April 2011
The Word Is Not Enough
I tend to be rather a girl when it comes to things like clothes. I believe in having a variety to choose from, especially when it comes to items like jackets or t-shirts, because you never know what kind of occasion might present itself and I always like to be prepared. Other Half tolerates this, sort of, if by tolerating you mean constantly eyeing my wardrobe and making reproachful noises. I do find it very hard to throw things out as you never know when they might come in useful. I tend to rate clothes on a sliding scale, and anything I haven't worn for more than a year and that is dangerously close to becoming "vintage" (by which I mean having more holes than material) has to go. It's only fair to the other clothes.
Stample - (verb) To trample while moving in a swift stampeding motion.
Used in a sentence: "The panicked crowd stampled over the grass like a herd of wilderbeest, crushing everything in their path."
As you know, I live my life by various sequences, including the Scale of Awesome and Scale of Lame, which can sometimes be time-consuming but is always worthwhile. However, there are many other ways to rate things and sometimes activities may have their own scale. I have one such mental chart for fun. Fun comes in four stages:
1. Frolicking - you're having an okay time. Perhaps you're enjoying a nice coffee on a sunny afternoon, but the coffee is too milky and you know if you tweet about it later it's going to come off all passive aggressive.
Example @pitandpendulum - Starbucks is meh. Why do I even come here? #totallywhining
2. Capering. - you're having a pretty good time. Perhaps you've partaken in some food and are enjoying a nice light chat with your friends. You may well tweet about this, depending on how delighted you are. Twitter is full of tiny snapshots of life just like this.
Example @pitandpendulum - Nandos does a decent sauce selection. #omnomnom
3 Cavorting - you're having a damn good time. The banter is flowing, you feel sexy and insightful and funny and all the other things you want people to think you are. You will definitely tweet about this, possibly aimed at people who are, even now, sitting across the table from you, because this is the kind of drunk activity that seems hilarious at the time and you will regret in the morning when you look at your phone and see that you sent 200 tweets in one hour and they were all utterly pointless. Remember, friends don't let friends tweet drunk. It's for the good of everyone.
Example @pitandpendulum - Hey YOU. Yeah, you. You're awesome. No, really....no, dude, I think you're awesome. #wittyhashtag
4. Romping - this is the best most Epic Fun Time in the whole world ever and you will never ever forget the joy of this moment. If you tweet while romping, you're definitely going to overshare but it's probably worthwhile, because whatever is happening is giving you the greatest and happiest feeling you will experience for as long as you live.
Example @pitandpendulum - Someone just paid me a million pounds to make out with Laura Dern! WIN! WIN! WIN! WIN! #greatestdayever
This lets me segue, rather uncomfortably, into made-up words. I segue about as well as I flirt - with awkward, jerking advances that usually end in disaster - but I award myself points for effort and for being tragically self-deprecating for entertainment purposes. Throughout my childhood and even now that I am a fully-fledged (in mind, if not in height) adult, my dad insists on using ridiculous words like "opperchancity". He finds this highly amusing, and so do I for the most part, so I've decided to list some of them here in the hope that eventually one or more will become common in everyday usage.
Opperchancity - (noun) An opportunity which you only have moments to grasp before it is gone forever.
Used in a sentence: "John knew that buying the beige Volvo with the wooden side panels was an opperchancity he'd be mad to pass up"
Excribe - (verb) Best used when none of the words you know are enough to describe something properly; when mere words do not encompass the magic of a moment.
Used in a sentence: "The feeling I got when I saw that double rainbow... I just can't excribe the joy I felt."
Used in a sentence: "The feeling I got when I saw that double rainbow... I just can't excribe the joy I felt."
Stample - (verb) To trample while moving in a swift stampeding motion.
Used in a sentence: "The panicked crowd stampled over the grass like a herd of wilderbeest, crushing everything in their path."
Procrasturbating - (verb) To meander around on the internet with no purpose
Used in a sentence: "Dude, I was procrasturbating last night and look what I found! Pictures of kittens in hats!"
If you have word suggestions you'd like to contribute, let me know. I'm totally open to new opperchancities.
Thursday, 31 March 2011
Otters Do It On Film
I didn't publish a post yesterday - not because I didn't have one ready, or at least not exactly, as I have about 3 different half-finished posts saved but I'm not sure about any of them - so please, accept my otter expressions of *apologetic ears* and *rueful grin*. I'm a bit of a perfectionist, and if it doesn't feel right then I will plant my feet on the ground and refuse to budge. However, I am also aware that I have lovely loyal readers who are quite clearly the bestest, funnest people ever, and I don't wish to disappoint them. I hear that flattery can get you places, but I wouldn't know. I never employ it. Say, have you guys done something different with your hair? It looks great. Really, it does. And are those new shoes? Stunning. You don't look a day over fabulous.
I thought I'd briefly mention some of my favourite films, as I'd like to branch out from mere conversations into other, more normal bloggy territory. This is quite possibly a crap and dangerous idea, but this Otternator laughs in the face of danger (then she hides under the couch, trembling, until it goes away). Some of these are films which you may never have heard of, others are box office classics which I'm sure everyone has seen at some time or another.
Firstly, Jurassic Park (1993). If you've read the previous posts you'll know I have a giant raging crush on Laura Dern. Interesting fact - did you know she was married to Billy Bob Thornton? He left her, but for Angelina Jolie, so technically that's evidence that the only woman hotter than Laura Dern is good old Ang (we're on first name terms, you see). Ang isn't looking so great these days though. I don't think saving Cambodia agrees with her. Alternatively, it might be the stress of having an army of children hanging on to her every limb. Still, people need hobbies. In any case, Jurassic Park is incredible. The special effects are a little dated now, sure, but the John Williams musical score, the sheer geniusness of the idea, and the part where a Brontosaurus sneezes on a child make this one of the best films I've ever seen. The velociraptors in the kitchen are still enough to make me jump, even though I've seen this particular film enough times to be able to stage a one-person production of it (memo to self: damn good idea). If you haven't seen Jurassic Park, well. You haven't lived.
Hedwig and the Angry Inch (2001) This is an odd choice, but it fully deserves its place in this list. John Cameron Mitchell (who not only wrote and directed the film, but also stars at the main character) is one of my cinematic inspirations. The film centres around Hansel, a young guy living in East Berlin when the wall is still up. He meets an American sergeant and falls in love. Unfortunately, to allow them to get married and leave the country, Hansel must have a sex change operation and assume his mother's name, Hedwig. Unfortunately it goes rather wrong, which is rather a large understatement, and he is left with the 'angry inch' of the title. He goes on to be a rock star, somewhat, performing in small bars and restaurants (usually next to the buffet table) but I won't spoil the rest for you. Suffice to say that this film features great musical numbers, is completely hilarious and has a wonderful take on the origin of love. Go see it. You won't be disappointed.
Switchblade Romance (2003) This is the only horror film to feature, because it's not really my preferred genre. I tend to find that most horror films scare you in the first ten minutes and then spend the next twenty minutes building up the characters, onyl to kill them off. This ruins the flow and is pretty predictable, in my opinion. Switchblade Romance, however, is completely unpredictable. It starts off gruesome and keeps racketing up the tension (in fact the original French title is Haute Tension or High Tension) until you find yourself watching through your fingers, terrified and yet fascinated. The story is simple. Two French girls are on study leave. One of them has a family who live on a farm in the country, so to get some peace and quiet they decided to visit. The night they arrive, a stranger in a van pulls up outside. When the father answers the door, the stranger kills him brutally, and then enters the house. He sees a photo of the family, and begins to hunt each of them down in turn. He doesn't realise that there is a second girl present in the house, and she in turn does her best to keep hidden from him as she sneaks about trying to save the remaining family members. Thus begins a horrifying but deeply enjoyable ride of terror.
Batteries Not Included (1987). This is quite possibly the greatest childhood film ever. My parents used to rent it for me at the local video shop every week. They would beg and bribe and blackmail in order to get me to choose another film, but I stayed strong. They told me years later that they hadn't been able to find the video available in shops at the time, so instead of buying it they were forced to rent it every single week for about 2 years. The video shop reserved a specific copy just for me. Even now, it still amazes me. The premise is simple - two small robot aliens arrive in America, the 'female' gives birth to three baby robot aliens (none of which look remotely alike and all of which look like they were constructed from bits of alarm clock and cassette players) and then they proceed to warm the hearts of every resident of the tenement building they landed on by doing miraculous things, like mending the glass windows of the cafe after some bullying thugs break it, keeping old lady Jessica Tandy's sanity on more or less an even keel, and giving the guy who used to be a boxer some of his confidence back, amongst much else. If you haven't seen it, I recommend it highly. You will require tissues, unless you have a heart of stone.
What should I do next? Books? Food? Animals? Who goes? You decide.
I thought I'd briefly mention some of my favourite films, as I'd like to branch out from mere conversations into other, more normal bloggy territory. This is quite possibly a crap and dangerous idea, but this Otternator laughs in the face of danger (then she hides under the couch, trembling, until it goes away). Some of these are films which you may never have heard of, others are box office classics which I'm sure everyone has seen at some time or another.
Firstly, Jurassic Park (1993). If you've read the previous posts you'll know I have a giant raging crush on Laura Dern. Interesting fact - did you know she was married to Billy Bob Thornton? He left her, but for Angelina Jolie, so technically that's evidence that the only woman hotter than Laura Dern is good old Ang (we're on first name terms, you see). Ang isn't looking so great these days though. I don't think saving Cambodia agrees with her. Alternatively, it might be the stress of having an army of children hanging on to her every limb. Still, people need hobbies. In any case, Jurassic Park is incredible. The special effects are a little dated now, sure, but the John Williams musical score, the sheer geniusness of the idea, and the part where a Brontosaurus sneezes on a child make this one of the best films I've ever seen. The velociraptors in the kitchen are still enough to make me jump, even though I've seen this particular film enough times to be able to stage a one-person production of it (memo to self: damn good idea). If you haven't seen Jurassic Park, well. You haven't lived.
Hedwig and the Angry Inch (2001) This is an odd choice, but it fully deserves its place in this list. John Cameron Mitchell (who not only wrote and directed the film, but also stars at the main character) is one of my cinematic inspirations. The film centres around Hansel, a young guy living in East Berlin when the wall is still up. He meets an American sergeant and falls in love. Unfortunately, to allow them to get married and leave the country, Hansel must have a sex change operation and assume his mother's name, Hedwig. Unfortunately it goes rather wrong, which is rather a large understatement, and he is left with the 'angry inch' of the title. He goes on to be a rock star, somewhat, performing in small bars and restaurants (usually next to the buffet table) but I won't spoil the rest for you. Suffice to say that this film features great musical numbers, is completely hilarious and has a wonderful take on the origin of love. Go see it. You won't be disappointed.
Switchblade Romance (2003) This is the only horror film to feature, because it's not really my preferred genre. I tend to find that most horror films scare you in the first ten minutes and then spend the next twenty minutes building up the characters, onyl to kill them off. This ruins the flow and is pretty predictable, in my opinion. Switchblade Romance, however, is completely unpredictable. It starts off gruesome and keeps racketing up the tension (in fact the original French title is Haute Tension or High Tension) until you find yourself watching through your fingers, terrified and yet fascinated. The story is simple. Two French girls are on study leave. One of them has a family who live on a farm in the country, so to get some peace and quiet they decided to visit. The night they arrive, a stranger in a van pulls up outside. When the father answers the door, the stranger kills him brutally, and then enters the house. He sees a photo of the family, and begins to hunt each of them down in turn. He doesn't realise that there is a second girl present in the house, and she in turn does her best to keep hidden from him as she sneaks about trying to save the remaining family members. Thus begins a horrifying but deeply enjoyable ride of terror.
Batteries Not Included (1987). This is quite possibly the greatest childhood film ever. My parents used to rent it for me at the local video shop every week. They would beg and bribe and blackmail in order to get me to choose another film, but I stayed strong. They told me years later that they hadn't been able to find the video available in shops at the time, so instead of buying it they were forced to rent it every single week for about 2 years. The video shop reserved a specific copy just for me. Even now, it still amazes me. The premise is simple - two small robot aliens arrive in America, the 'female' gives birth to three baby robot aliens (none of which look remotely alike and all of which look like they were constructed from bits of alarm clock and cassette players) and then they proceed to warm the hearts of every resident of the tenement building they landed on by doing miraculous things, like mending the glass windows of the cafe after some bullying thugs break it, keeping old lady Jessica Tandy's sanity on more or less an even keel, and giving the guy who used to be a boxer some of his confidence back, amongst much else. If you haven't seen it, I recommend it highly. You will require tissues, unless you have a heart of stone.
What should I do next? Books? Food? Animals? Who goes? You decide.
Friday, 11 March 2011
Presents Are For Life, Not Just For Christmas
I get uncontrollably overexcited about certain things. It is a curious and well-known (among my friends and family) phenomenon. Cheese, for example, throws me into a frenzy of knowledgeable excitement which leaves me rambling for minutes on end, saying things like "of course, there is the Cashel Blue, which really is one of the better soft blue cheeses, unless you're counting... Hello? Hello?" and realising that I've been left alone at the cheese counter in Asda for quite some time, and that other customers are beginning to stare.
In addition, anything involving dinosaurs or robots leaves me a gibbering, giggling, geekified wreck. Pictures of small cute animals, preferably stuffing their tiny faces with food, sends me into paroxysms of delight. Nothing, however, comes close to the sheer adrenaline rush and immediate emotional meltdown I experience whenever Other Half mentions the key word "present".
PRESENT!
It is like she has just plugged me into a socket. My brain reacts with lightning speed, screaming in exultant joy as it throws its doors open to the wonderful world of possibilities. So you can imagine the dizzying heights of emotional turbulence I reached today when I received the following email.
From: Other Half
To: Otternator
I've bought you a little present.
From: Otternator
To: Other Half
*twitches frantically* What is it? WHAT IS IT?
From: Other Half
To: Otternator
It's just a little present. Don't get too excited.
From: Otternator
To: Other Half
TOO LATE.
What could it be? My mind races through all sorts of wonderful, dream-like scenarios in which Other Half hands me the keys to a motorbike (this will never happen because I can't walk in a straight line for ten paces without crashing into something and no one has ever allowed me to have a driving lesson for this reason), or a pygmy goat (pygmy anything, really) or Laura Dern, wearing her Jurassic Park outfit complete with hat. Once I've discarded these theories, on the basis that they all defy logic and what I know of Other Half - she prefers me alive (as opposed to roadkill) and not sleeping with Laura Dern, and she refuses to let me have a housegoat for reasons known only to herself - the possibilities that are left number in the millions. It could be a cd. It could be some kind of nice soap. It could be a sweater. It could be a ruler with some cute pictures on it. It could be anything. My mind reeled. I was unable to handle the ocean of ideas. I floated around in it, dazed but happy. The only thing I was certain of is that time was not going by fast enough, and that I really, really wanted my present.
By the time Other Half got home, I had been sitting at the bottom of the stairs for an indeterminate amount of time, anxiously awaiting her arrival. Roland and Giles, as they normally do, ran to greet her with yips. They twined lovingly around her legs, making her stumble as she tried to walk without treading on ground that suddenly seemed to be made entirely of delicate cat limbs.
Other Half: (looking at me with amusement) Here you go. It's rubbish so I don't know why you got so excited.
Me: (in awe) It''s the single greatest thing I've ever seen.
And so it was.
In addition, anything involving dinosaurs or robots leaves me a gibbering, giggling, geekified wreck. Pictures of small cute animals, preferably stuffing their tiny faces with food, sends me into paroxysms of delight. Nothing, however, comes close to the sheer adrenaline rush and immediate emotional meltdown I experience whenever Other Half mentions the key word "present".
PRESENT!
It is like she has just plugged me into a socket. My brain reacts with lightning speed, screaming in exultant joy as it throws its doors open to the wonderful world of possibilities. So you can imagine the dizzying heights of emotional turbulence I reached today when I received the following email.
From: Other Half
To: Otternator
I've bought you a little present.
From: Otternator
To: Other Half
*twitches frantically* What is it? WHAT IS IT?
From: Other Half
To: Otternator
It's just a little present. Don't get too excited.
From: Otternator
To: Other Half
TOO LATE.
What could it be? My mind races through all sorts of wonderful, dream-like scenarios in which Other Half hands me the keys to a motorbike (this will never happen because I can't walk in a straight line for ten paces without crashing into something and no one has ever allowed me to have a driving lesson for this reason), or a pygmy goat (pygmy anything, really) or Laura Dern, wearing her Jurassic Park outfit complete with hat. Once I've discarded these theories, on the basis that they all defy logic and what I know of Other Half - she prefers me alive (as opposed to roadkill) and not sleeping with Laura Dern, and she refuses to let me have a housegoat for reasons known only to herself - the possibilities that are left number in the millions. It could be a cd. It could be some kind of nice soap. It could be a sweater. It could be a ruler with some cute pictures on it. It could be anything. My mind reeled. I was unable to handle the ocean of ideas. I floated around in it, dazed but happy. The only thing I was certain of is that time was not going by fast enough, and that I really, really wanted my present.
By the time Other Half got home, I had been sitting at the bottom of the stairs for an indeterminate amount of time, anxiously awaiting her arrival. Roland and Giles, as they normally do, ran to greet her with yips. They twined lovingly around her legs, making her stumble as she tried to walk without treading on ground that suddenly seemed to be made entirely of delicate cat limbs.
Other Half: (looking at me with amusement) Here you go. It's rubbish so I don't know why you got so excited.
Me: (in awe) It''s the single greatest thing I've ever seen.
And so it was.
It was a wind-up otter bath toy. Other Half knows how much I love otters and everything otter-related. I constantly make otter puns ("that's otterly brilliant" ...*cymbal crash*) and whenever the mood strikes me I will happily sing along to my ipod, inserting the word 'otter' into songs, completely at random and with total disregard for the lyrical flow.
Think how much better songs would be if artists wrote them about otters. For example, that Elvis classic You Were Otter On My Mind, or, Whitney Houston's I Will Otter Love You. This puts me in mind of the Muff Game, which, despite sounding like an awful euphemism, is not a drinking game as such, just a game I tend to find funnier when I'm drunk. There is only one rule and it is simple - you choose a song with the word 'love' in the title, and replace it with 'muff', so you'd get song titles like All You Need Is Muff, and How Deep Is Your Muff, and When A Man Muffs A Woman. Best suggestions on a postcard, or in the comments section.
Let the hilarity ensue.
Sunday, 6 March 2011
The Hath and The Dern
I recently discovered that Other Half had never seen the Princess Diaries, featuring Anne Hathaway and the ever-delightful Julie Andrews, who I firmly believe should share all grandmother roles between herself and Betty White. We have a friend who has a burning obsession for the Hath, which is a source of much amusement for us. I mean, sure, she's good looking, but she's too pretty, know what I mean? I read recently that The Hath is going to be Catwoman in the next Batman film. It's an odd choice, since she has all the sexual appeal and villainous intent of a baby deer, but I'm sure she'll do fine.
We put the dvd on and settled down to watch it. We ran a commentary on it for the first few minutes as we usually do, mocking the characters and dialogue in rapid quick-fire succession. Silence fell but after a while I could see Other Half was growing increasingly agitated. A moment later she turned to me.
Other Half: Wait, so... Julie Andrews lives in that house... which is, by the way, not in keeping with the surrounding architecture and looks massively out of place, and it's supposed to be an official consulate for Fairy Land?
Me: Genovia. And ...yes, she's staying there.
Other Half: If it's a consulate, shouldn't they have an information desk? And a place where people can go to sort out their passports? And some staff other than these hoity-toity royal employees?
Me: I think you're supposed to suspend belief in plausible situations for this kind of film.
Other Half: It's just not right.
Me: (patting her absently) I know, dear.
I was distracted because I kept wondering when Colin Firth was going to turn up and announce that he was her father and conveniently not dead after all (I realised eventually that I was confusing the Princess Diaries with Wild Child, a film which I saw a couple of years ago and immediately tried to bleach from my mind - I have a thing for rags-to-riches comedies). Also, our 21 pound Maine Coon cat was curled up in my lap and I was beginning to lose feeling in my legs.
The conversation turned, during a dull period in the film, to a favourite topic (for me anyway) of fit celebrities we would choose to sleep with. The rules of this game, referred to as Top 5, are simple - your partner permits you to cheat with these five people and only these five people. I advise against saying things like "your mum" because not only will that not fly well with your partner, the chances of you managing to actually score with such a person is unlikely, even if they knit you jumpers and bring you cake. Cake does not equal sex. It should, but it does not. In addition, these five people must be celebrities, no matter how minor. You can't choose that hot girl from the office that wears those lovely pencil skirts, or the watercooler guy with the awesome guns.
Me: Okay so who's in your top 5 this week?
Other Half: Rachel McAdam, Emily Blunt...
I make faces of disgust and pretend to retch.
Me: So....boring...so...similar...
Other Half: Fine, who are your Top 5 then?
Me: Not in any particular order, June Cole-
Other Half: Ah yes, June Cole. She's in mine as well.
June Cole is the nickname we've given to the June page of Cheryl Cole's 2011 calendar, which hangs in our hallway. I'm not exactly a fan of her accent but she does look Italian or some kind of Spanish and ridiculously hot and that works for me. Other Half and I consider the mental image of June Cole for a few moments in blissful silence.
Me: And Santana from Glee, and Quinn from Glee, and David Tennant and Laura Dern.
Other Half: Not her again!
For those of you who don't know, Laura Dern was the blonde lady in Jurassic Park (she was also in an episode of Ellen, which my gay readers will probably know already). I really like dinosaurs, and after that film, I really liked Laura Dern. There's something about the way she tended to the sick Triceratops that drew me in. Sensitive, yet tough. Smart and beautiful. Able to pull off a khaki shorts, coral shirt and boots combination without a hitch. That's my kind of lady. Other Half does not care for Laura Dern, possibly for this reason.
Me: I like her. She stays.
Other Half: These people aren't even in the country. Don't you want to choose someone a bit closer to home?
Me: Well, David Tennant covers my Scottish base. If it makes you feel better I'll substitute Emma Watson for June Cole.
Other Half: Who's Emma....Oh my god! Hermione Granger?! She's a child!
Me: Actually, I think she just turned 21.
Other Half: (staring at me, saucer-eyed) But, but...those Harry Potter films-
Me: Were a long time ago. She's perfectly legal. I would be delighted to buy her a legal drink. Because she's legal.
Other Half: (spluttering) I...I...
Me: Emma Watson it is then. I hear she's in the UK like, all the time. Excellent.
Other Half: (darkly) You're sick. Pass the cat.
We put the dvd on and settled down to watch it. We ran a commentary on it for the first few minutes as we usually do, mocking the characters and dialogue in rapid quick-fire succession. Silence fell but after a while I could see Other Half was growing increasingly agitated. A moment later she turned to me.
Other Half: Wait, so... Julie Andrews lives in that house... which is, by the way, not in keeping with the surrounding architecture and looks massively out of place, and it's supposed to be an official consulate for Fairy Land?
Me: Genovia. And ...yes, she's staying there.
Other Half: If it's a consulate, shouldn't they have an information desk? And a place where people can go to sort out their passports? And some staff other than these hoity-toity royal employees?
Me: I think you're supposed to suspend belief in plausible situations for this kind of film.
Other Half: It's just not right.
Me: (patting her absently) I know, dear.
I was distracted because I kept wondering when Colin Firth was going to turn up and announce that he was her father and conveniently not dead after all (I realised eventually that I was confusing the Princess Diaries with Wild Child, a film which I saw a couple of years ago and immediately tried to bleach from my mind - I have a thing for rags-to-riches comedies). Also, our 21 pound Maine Coon cat was curled up in my lap and I was beginning to lose feeling in my legs.
The conversation turned, during a dull period in the film, to a favourite topic (for me anyway) of fit celebrities we would choose to sleep with. The rules of this game, referred to as Top 5, are simple - your partner permits you to cheat with these five people and only these five people. I advise against saying things like "your mum" because not only will that not fly well with your partner, the chances of you managing to actually score with such a person is unlikely, even if they knit you jumpers and bring you cake. Cake does not equal sex. It should, but it does not. In addition, these five people must be celebrities, no matter how minor. You can't choose that hot girl from the office that wears those lovely pencil skirts, or the watercooler guy with the awesome guns.
Me: Okay so who's in your top 5 this week?
Other Half: Rachel McAdam, Emily Blunt...
I make faces of disgust and pretend to retch.
Me: So....boring...so...similar...
Other Half: Fine, who are your Top 5 then?
Me: Not in any particular order, June Cole-
Other Half: Ah yes, June Cole. She's in mine as well.
June Cole is the nickname we've given to the June page of Cheryl Cole's 2011 calendar, which hangs in our hallway. I'm not exactly a fan of her accent but she does look Italian or some kind of Spanish and ridiculously hot and that works for me. Other Half and I consider the mental image of June Cole for a few moments in blissful silence.
Me: And Santana from Glee, and Quinn from Glee, and David Tennant and Laura Dern.
Other Half: Not her again!
For those of you who don't know, Laura Dern was the blonde lady in Jurassic Park (she was also in an episode of Ellen, which my gay readers will probably know already). I really like dinosaurs, and after that film, I really liked Laura Dern. There's something about the way she tended to the sick Triceratops that drew me in. Sensitive, yet tough. Smart and beautiful. Able to pull off a khaki shorts, coral shirt and boots combination without a hitch. That's my kind of lady. Other Half does not care for Laura Dern, possibly for this reason.
Me: I like her. She stays.
Other Half: These people aren't even in the country. Don't you want to choose someone a bit closer to home?
Me: Well, David Tennant covers my Scottish base. If it makes you feel better I'll substitute Emma Watson for June Cole.
Other Half: Who's Emma....Oh my god! Hermione Granger?! She's a child!
Me: Actually, I think she just turned 21.
Other Half: (staring at me, saucer-eyed) But, but...those Harry Potter films-
Me: Were a long time ago. She's perfectly legal. I would be delighted to buy her a legal drink. Because she's legal.
Other Half: (spluttering) I...I...
Me: Emma Watson it is then. I hear she's in the UK like, all the time. Excellent.
Other Half: (darkly) You're sick. Pass the cat.
Wednesday, 2 March 2011
Why Do You Weep? Did You Think I Was Immortal?
By the time Other Half and I loaded the last taxi yesterday - meaning she did all the heavy lifting (playing a dangerous game of Suitcase Tetris) while I carefully supervised - I was exhausted. I had been feeling pretty ill at work that day; my nose, ears and throat all hurt, I felt dizzy, disorientated and kind of like I was walking underwater. My brain appeared to be attempting to escape by tunnelling through my temples, aided by the tiny furnaces burning behind each of my eyes. When we finally returned home, I immediately fell into bed in a sad, bedraggled heap. It was clear I was sick and/or dying.
I am so susceptible to flu and colds it's almost laughable. If even a whiff of something gets within twenty feet of me, bam! I'm sniffling and wheezing for days on end, sinuses clogged up so that my voice comes out as a kind of nasal shriek, if it comes out at all. Other Half hardly ever gets sick. She considers it a sign of weakness. However, when I am dragging myself around, looking at our empty fridge with large, mournful eyes and making pathetic whimpers punctuated by spluttering, she does not hesitate to take care of me. She's pretty awesome, even if she does roll her eyes at me a lot.
I tweeted this morning how crap I was feeling and many of you very kindly replied with nice get-better-soon-tweets. That really cheered me up and definitely contributed to how much more alive I'm feeling now. One particular fellow twitterer suggested that I blog about the things that make me feel better when I'm sick. I liked the idea and so I shall.
Here's the situation - you're ill, so you've taken the day off work. What do you do with your time other than lie around, vomiting, sweating and feeling sorry for yourself? Here are my helpful suggestions:
1. Firstly, eat something. If you have Other Halves/flatmates/family/pets that you can bribe, blackmail or make mewling noises at, like I do, then you'll find it easier to obtain food. If you're alone, best order in. You can't go out like that. Look at the state of you. No, sit down. I'll get the takeaway menus.
2. Secondly, take a shower or bath. You'll feel better when you're clean. I like to take both at the same time so I can imagine I'm sitting in a lagoon while a waterfall cascades gently down on top of me, like in the Herbal Essences shampoo adverts. You don't necessarily have to do this but it may increase your overall enjoyment of shower/bath. I hope Other Half doesn't read this because she'll be all blah blah wasting water blah blah environment and I'll nod along in the right places but I'm totally still thinking about the Herbal Essences advert and how I'll brush aside the palm fronds to find that Laura Dern is sharing my lagoon and, how inconvenient, her shampoo just ran out and she needs to share mine. Sweet.
I also recommend singing as the steam generated by the hot water will clear your sinuses out. You can choose any song, but.I personally prefer I Feel Shitty, set to the tune of I Feel Pretty. Today I also incorporated a Tenacious D medley, which really opened up the old airways.
3. Once you're clean and have eaten, you may begin to get bored. Never fear, the internet is here! I don't know if you've noticed just how damn awesome the internet is, but let me tell you. It's pretty damn awesome. There's Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, Stumbleupon and all kinds of interesting sites just waiting to help you find newer and better pictures of kittens or to fill up your friend's wall with posts about complete crap or to read new blogs. In addition, much fun can be had by simply browsing. You never know what you might find just by clicking from one page to another, leaving a little breadcrumb url trail behind you as you trudge further into the darkness of cyberspace. Here are a couple of links to things I've enjoyed recently, to start you off:
http://www.nerdist.com/2011/02/murmurs-of-middle-earth/
This is an Australian DJ who has, brilliantly, remixed music and words from the Lord of the Rings films to create one super-awesome master track. I played this to Other Half and was overjoyed to see her respond with something other than apathy (her default setting), so it must really be good.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V1HSNV9y25A
This is a man doing the best impression of Ian McKellan you have ever heard or will ever hear. It is a massive bonus that he's reciting the lyrics to Fresh Prince of Bel Air. Recommended by a twitter friend, to whom I am now forever in debt.
http://www.babelgum.com/5001744/glee-60-seconds.html
If you've heard of Glee (and come on, who hasn't these days? There's even a Glee perfume. Other Half and I were so excited/appalled about this that we took phone photos and sent them to everyone we knew, and then I spent the next two months making Glee-related facebook status updates that said things like "I'm Blainesexual" and "You think that's hard? Try fighting a spider army with nothing but a cup! That's hard!") then you will hopefully find this link particularly amusing. It's a summary of the entire first season of Glee in 60 seconds and it does cover all the major plot lines in a very amusing way.
4. Make a pillow fort or duvet cocoon, resplendent with all the blankets you can find and have a nice nap. You'll wake feeling as good as new. Except if you've had crazy fever-dreams about Other Half cheating on you, and then you wake up and you're incredibly angry until you realise that you can't actually accuse her of anything because technically it never happened, you dreamt it, but you can't stop being mad that she kissed some stupid blonde girl on a ski slope and left you in the hunting lodge with your face pressed sadly into the window as you watched them ski off together into the sunset.
Repeat these steps as necessary until the illness passes.You'll thank me for this, I'm sure of it.
I am so susceptible to flu and colds it's almost laughable. If even a whiff of something gets within twenty feet of me, bam! I'm sniffling and wheezing for days on end, sinuses clogged up so that my voice comes out as a kind of nasal shriek, if it comes out at all. Other Half hardly ever gets sick. She considers it a sign of weakness. However, when I am dragging myself around, looking at our empty fridge with large, mournful eyes and making pathetic whimpers punctuated by spluttering, she does not hesitate to take care of me. She's pretty awesome, even if she does roll her eyes at me a lot.
I tweeted this morning how crap I was feeling and many of you very kindly replied with nice get-better-soon-tweets. That really cheered me up and definitely contributed to how much more alive I'm feeling now. One particular fellow twitterer suggested that I blog about the things that make me feel better when I'm sick. I liked the idea and so I shall.
Here's the situation - you're ill, so you've taken the day off work. What do you do with your time other than lie around, vomiting, sweating and feeling sorry for yourself? Here are my helpful suggestions:
1. Firstly, eat something. If you have Other Halves/flatmates/family/pets that you can bribe, blackmail or make mewling noises at, like I do, then you'll find it easier to obtain food. If you're alone, best order in. You can't go out like that. Look at the state of you. No, sit down. I'll get the takeaway menus.
2. Secondly, take a shower or bath. You'll feel better when you're clean. I like to take both at the same time so I can imagine I'm sitting in a lagoon while a waterfall cascades gently down on top of me, like in the Herbal Essences shampoo adverts. You don't necessarily have to do this but it may increase your overall enjoyment of shower/bath. I hope Other Half doesn't read this because she'll be all blah blah wasting water blah blah environment and I'll nod along in the right places but I'm totally still thinking about the Herbal Essences advert and how I'll brush aside the palm fronds to find that Laura Dern is sharing my lagoon and, how inconvenient, her shampoo just ran out and she needs to share mine. Sweet.
I also recommend singing as the steam generated by the hot water will clear your sinuses out. You can choose any song, but.I personally prefer I Feel Shitty, set to the tune of I Feel Pretty. Today I also incorporated a Tenacious D medley, which really opened up the old airways.
3. Once you're clean and have eaten, you may begin to get bored. Never fear, the internet is here! I don't know if you've noticed just how damn awesome the internet is, but let me tell you. It's pretty damn awesome. There's Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, Stumbleupon and all kinds of interesting sites just waiting to help you find newer and better pictures of kittens or to fill up your friend's wall with posts about complete crap or to read new blogs. In addition, much fun can be had by simply browsing. You never know what you might find just by clicking from one page to another, leaving a little breadcrumb url trail behind you as you trudge further into the darkness of cyberspace. Here are a couple of links to things I've enjoyed recently, to start you off:
http://www.nerdist.com/2011/02/murmurs-of-middle-earth/
This is an Australian DJ who has, brilliantly, remixed music and words from the Lord of the Rings films to create one super-awesome master track. I played this to Other Half and was overjoyed to see her respond with something other than apathy (her default setting), so it must really be good.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V1HSNV9y25A
This is a man doing the best impression of Ian McKellan you have ever heard or will ever hear. It is a massive bonus that he's reciting the lyrics to Fresh Prince of Bel Air. Recommended by a twitter friend, to whom I am now forever in debt.
http://www.babelgum.com/5001744/glee-60-seconds.html
If you've heard of Glee (and come on, who hasn't these days? There's even a Glee perfume. Other Half and I were so excited/appalled about this that we took phone photos and sent them to everyone we knew, and then I spent the next two months making Glee-related facebook status updates that said things like "I'm Blainesexual" and "You think that's hard? Try fighting a spider army with nothing but a cup! That's hard!") then you will hopefully find this link particularly amusing. It's a summary of the entire first season of Glee in 60 seconds and it does cover all the major plot lines in a very amusing way.
4. Make a pillow fort or duvet cocoon, resplendent with all the blankets you can find and have a nice nap. You'll wake feeling as good as new. Except if you've had crazy fever-dreams about Other Half cheating on you, and then you wake up and you're incredibly angry until you realise that you can't actually accuse her of anything because technically it never happened, you dreamt it, but you can't stop being mad that she kissed some stupid blonde girl on a ski slope and left you in the hunting lodge with your face pressed sadly into the window as you watched them ski off together into the sunset.
Repeat these steps as necessary until the illness passes.You'll thank me for this, I'm sure of it.
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