I mentioned the other day that we'd found our fifth housemate for next year, but sadly this has fallen through. Apparently he's found a house nearer to his uni or something.
So, instead of telling you about Henk, our housemate never to be, I shall cast an eye to the past and (briefly) tell ye a couple of stories from yore that slipped under the Cutlery radar...
I. Eggs
I was not present for this incident, so I shall be recounting it secondhand. My housemates were assembled in the kitchen, for one reason or another, when some bright spark decided to open the fridge. Out tumbled several of Gemma Ward's eggs, which presumably had not been fastened down in the proper manner.
"My eggs!"
The eggs were lost, but that wasn't the worst part. They didn't quite make it to the floor, instead aiming to land on Peter Murphy. They found their mark, splattering his lower appendages with eggy goo.
"My legs!"
II. The Cunning Trickery of Sophie Jones
A knock is heard at the door. Joel Dear wonders whether or not to answer it, but the scamper of feet coming downstairs indicates that the matter is under control.
Sophie Jones heads towards the door, but can see through the window that it is not someone she would care to speak to. She decides that Joel is better equipped to handle this one, so, instead of opening the door, she calls for her housemate.
"Joel! It's the landlord!"
Joel gets on fairly well with the landlord, and his happy to greet him. But upon opening the door - shockhorror! - Joel realises that he has been duped, and that he is in fact now saying how-do to a couple of Jehovah's Witnesses.
He deals with them in a curt manner before shutting the door and calling Sophie a cunt.
Joel.
Wednesday, 29 June 2011
Monday, 27 June 2011
Glastonbury Weekend
FRIDAY
As I ran from the stock room at 11am, taking the stairs three at a time, my thoughts turned to the long weekend that stretched ahead of me. Some people would be enjoying U2 tonight, but I was more exciting at the prospect of spending the night in Gem's room.
Except it was now my room. Gem had hastily and unexpectedly moved out on Thursday morning, and Sarah and I were quick to capitalise on this and increase our living space by about 150%. We had planned just to gradually start moving our stuff in, but of course we couldn't resist and ended up going all-out. I spent Thursday night in the master bedroom, surrounded by my wonderful possessions (mandolin, iPod dock, cuddly toys, etc.)
So anyway, after finishing work at Next on Friday I headed to Sturff, and after Sturff we went to TGI Friday's. I had recently finished stomping Tom in our one-on-one Fantasy Football league (I have Carlos Tevez to thank for that, mostly - perhaps I should send him an email) and, as we had agreed, he now had to buy me a meal. I had a lovely, expensive steak, and everyone had a great time. Except perhaps for Cliffey, who discovered that some girl he had a past with and now could barely bring himself to speak to was on the payroll at TGI's and happened to have a shift that evening.
Oh well. Later on, we kicked back with a head-shaving session*, a midnight visit to Tesco, and a great big washing-up session. Operation Polaris produced great results, but such things do not last in a student house, even if there are only three people officially living there now.
SATURDAY
Colorama are a local-ish band who sound a bit like the Super Furry Animals and whose new album I picked up from Spillers on Valentine's Day, more or less on a whim after listening to bits of it on their CD listening post. Today, they were scheduled to play a free set at The Old Library as part of Spillers 'Saturday Sessions' thing.
I was mildly excited, and while Sarah had to be in Next that afternoon, I had convinced Cliffey to check it out with me...that is, until it transpired that Colorama had traded the bustle of Saturday afternoon in Central Cardiff for the rather more bustling bustle of Saturday afternoon at the Glastonbury festival. Typical.
Their slot at The Old Library was to be filled by a band called Houdini Dax, to whom I feel I owe a little publicity because I know two of them personally - David and Jack are both on the pop music course - and yet decided, not for the first time, that I couldn't be bothered to go and watch. So click on this link, watch the videos, buy their album, send them naked photos, and generally do whatever it takes to bail me out, karmically speaking.
Still, I would not let the whole day slide by without taking in a little live music. So while thousands of people were enjoying Coldplay and wondering who that psychy Welsh band from earlier were, Sarah and I were listening to Mr. John Grant, for Czars frontman and the brain behind Mojo's album of 2010.
And, in spite of a few technical problems**, his set was fantastic. Most of his songs were backed by nothing more than a baby grand piano and a synthesiser, and The Gate made a pretty cool venue for it all, being more of a theatre than a club or concert hall.
The support act, Daughter, were good too. I got their EP and had it signed, although sadly the cardboard sleeve did get slightly bent in Sarah's rucksack. Oh well.
SUNDAY
Tom stayed over on Saturday night, and in the morning I was told that while I was falling asleep halfway through Megamind***, he and Cliffey had popped to the Kismet for a late-night curry. And guess who was there, chomping on poppadoms after another hard shift at TGI's?
Anywho, once we had all woken up and gotten dressed, the four of us (Sarah, Tom, Cliffey and myself) went into town to find costumes for our upcoming Pokémon party. It was a scorchingly hot day, and after stickly circumnavigating the city centre for an hour or so, we retired to Varsity for some food and a few cold drinks.
Which was lovely apart from the bit where I ordered some sort of complicated mocktail and the lady on the counter had to go and see if they had the necessary ingredients. Whilst awaiting her return, I thought it would be a great idea to perch myself on the bar - literally sit on the bar - and in doing so I knocked the Chip & PIN machine onto the floor, with surprising velocity. Imagine the launcher in a pinball machine, and replace the ball with maybe £25 per month of hi-tech gadgetry, and the launcher bit with my fat fuckin' ass.
I was roundly ridiculed, but hey, the virgin colada was nice.
And so, as several thousand people were realising that Kelly and Michelle would not, in fact, be making an appearance, Sarah and I rounded off the weekend by watching Catch Me If You Can, which we both agreed was awesome.
And now it's Monday, and Sarah's in work, and I'm sweating a lot and typing this blog and tomorrow morning I have work too.
Oh well. At least we know who our new housemate will be. More on that tomorrow.
Joel.
* Not my head. Meic's and Cliffey's.
** At the start of one song, he started singing into a second, thus far unused, microphone, which added a very distant-sounding effect to his voice. Which I thought was cool until he stopped and made an annoyed face, at which point I realised that the mic wasn't turned on.
*** Sarah had to fill me in the following morning. I won't spoil for you, but it all sounds very exciting. And for once I managed to guess an important plot point.
As I ran from the stock room at 11am, taking the stairs three at a time, my thoughts turned to the long weekend that stretched ahead of me. Some people would be enjoying U2 tonight, but I was more exciting at the prospect of spending the night in Gem's room.
Except it was now my room. Gem had hastily and unexpectedly moved out on Thursday morning, and Sarah and I were quick to capitalise on this and increase our living space by about 150%. We had planned just to gradually start moving our stuff in, but of course we couldn't resist and ended up going all-out. I spent Thursday night in the master bedroom, surrounded by my wonderful possessions (mandolin, iPod dock, cuddly toys, etc.)
So anyway, after finishing work at Next on Friday I headed to Sturff, and after Sturff we went to TGI Friday's. I had recently finished stomping Tom in our one-on-one Fantasy Football league (I have Carlos Tevez to thank for that, mostly - perhaps I should send him an email) and, as we had agreed, he now had to buy me a meal. I had a lovely, expensive steak, and everyone had a great time. Except perhaps for Cliffey, who discovered that some girl he had a past with and now could barely bring himself to speak to was on the payroll at TGI's and happened to have a shift that evening.
Oh well. Later on, we kicked back with a head-shaving session*, a midnight visit to Tesco, and a great big washing-up session. Operation Polaris produced great results, but such things do not last in a student house, even if there are only three people officially living there now.
SATURDAY
Colorama are a local-ish band who sound a bit like the Super Furry Animals and whose new album I picked up from Spillers on Valentine's Day, more or less on a whim after listening to bits of it on their CD listening post. Today, they were scheduled to play a free set at The Old Library as part of Spillers 'Saturday Sessions' thing.
I was mildly excited, and while Sarah had to be in Next that afternoon, I had convinced Cliffey to check it out with me...that is, until it transpired that Colorama had traded the bustle of Saturday afternoon in Central Cardiff for the rather more bustling bustle of Saturday afternoon at the Glastonbury festival. Typical.
Their slot at The Old Library was to be filled by a band called Houdini Dax, to whom I feel I owe a little publicity because I know two of them personally - David and Jack are both on the pop music course - and yet decided, not for the first time, that I couldn't be bothered to go and watch. So click on this link, watch the videos, buy their album, send them naked photos, and generally do whatever it takes to bail me out, karmically speaking.
Still, I would not let the whole day slide by without taking in a little live music. So while thousands of people were enjoying Coldplay and wondering who that psychy Welsh band from earlier were, Sarah and I were listening to Mr. John Grant, for Czars frontman and the brain behind Mojo's album of 2010.
And, in spite of a few technical problems**, his set was fantastic. Most of his songs were backed by nothing more than a baby grand piano and a synthesiser, and The Gate made a pretty cool venue for it all, being more of a theatre than a club or concert hall.
The support act, Daughter, were good too. I got their EP and had it signed, although sadly the cardboard sleeve did get slightly bent in Sarah's rucksack. Oh well.
SUNDAY
Tom stayed over on Saturday night, and in the morning I was told that while I was falling asleep halfway through Megamind***, he and Cliffey had popped to the Kismet for a late-night curry. And guess who was there, chomping on poppadoms after another hard shift at TGI's?
Anywho, once we had all woken up and gotten dressed, the four of us (Sarah, Tom, Cliffey and myself) went into town to find costumes for our upcoming Pokémon party. It was a scorchingly hot day, and after stickly circumnavigating the city centre for an hour or so, we retired to Varsity for some food and a few cold drinks.
Which was lovely apart from the bit where I ordered some sort of complicated mocktail and the lady on the counter had to go and see if they had the necessary ingredients. Whilst awaiting her return, I thought it would be a great idea to perch myself on the bar - literally sit on the bar - and in doing so I knocked the Chip & PIN machine onto the floor, with surprising velocity. Imagine the launcher in a pinball machine, and replace the ball with maybe £25 per month of hi-tech gadgetry, and the launcher bit with my fat fuckin' ass.
I was roundly ridiculed, but hey, the virgin colada was nice.
And so, as several thousand people were realising that Kelly and Michelle would not, in fact, be making an appearance, Sarah and I rounded off the weekend by watching Catch Me If You Can, which we both agreed was awesome.
And now it's Monday, and Sarah's in work, and I'm sweating a lot and typing this blog and tomorrow morning I have work too.
Oh well. At least we know who our new housemate will be. More on that tomorrow.
Joel.
* Not my head. Meic's and Cliffey's.
** At the start of one song, he started singing into a second, thus far unused, microphone, which added a very distant-sounding effect to his voice. Which I thought was cool until he stopped and made an annoyed face, at which point I realised that the mic wasn't turned on.
*** Sarah had to fill me in the following morning. I won't spoil for you, but it all sounds very exciting. And for once I managed to guess an important plot point.
Thursday, 23 June 2011
The Big Jam Sandwich-Eating Contest
And so last night, the momentous moment finally arrived. 'Washington' Dave Camilleri took on Thom 'Tenderloin' Cliffe for the title of...person who can eat the most jam sandwiches. Also Padbury joined in:
(N.B. If anyone with some image editing software that isn't MS Paint wants to do me a picture of Cliffey and Dave facing off, that would be cool. Something along these lines if you could. Thanks.)
So the evening began with our three combatants preparing their feast. Three pots of blackcurrant jam and six (!) loaves of bread were turned into a 48-sandwich obstacle course that would test these athletes to their very limit.
Each contestant received a plate of 16 sandwiches each, and as the battle began, it became clear that none of them wanted to rush their efforts (as Cartwright shrewdly pointed out, "it's not a race, it's a marathon").
So it was to be a war of attrition. We put Friends on in the background to pass the time. Some made better headway than others, but Cliffey (who started to fall behind his rivals some time around Sandwich #5) made it clear that speed was not the key factor here; the winner would be the man who could eat the most sandwiches, not the one who could eat a few sandwiches quickly. It was anyone's game.
But around the seventh or eighth sandwich, they started to lag. All three of them. It got a little strategic. Padbury started folding his sandwiches so that he could eat them in fewer bites; Dave took to tearing his sandwiches apart, presumably to make the task ahead of him seem less gargantuan. Cliffey began testing each sandwich's moisture levels, so that he could keep things a little varied.
Alas, to no avail. With still a good nine sandwiches between any of them and victory, it was decided that The Big Jam Sandwich-Eating Contest was to be rained off. Padbury had to go home anyway, and Cliffey and Dave didn't seem that thrilled at the prospect of carrying on.
So instead of finishing their sandwiches, they decided to do something different: set them on fire.
(I do have a pretty cool picture of this but sadly the computer isn't recognising my camera so that will have to wait.)
I know not whether the boys will return to the grand hall of jam sandwich marathons. For now they are pursuing other endeavours; Cartwright seems tragically assured that he can eat four cream crackers in one minute.
Joel.
Wednesday, 22 June 2011
Pay-Per-View
Big news! The jam sandwich-eating contest between Thom Cliffe and Dave Camilleri will go ahead this evening. We at Cutlery will bring you all the action, as it happens*, so make sure you tune in.
First, though, a shameless plug:
Everybody go to http://soundcloud.com/shiny-tiger and listen to the songs.
They're good.
Promise.
Joel.
*Actually I'll probably just write it down as it happens and post it here afterwards. I'm not about to do some kind of BBC live text thing.
First, though, a shameless plug:
Everybody go to http://soundcloud.com/shiny-tiger and listen to the songs.
They're good.
Promise.
Joel.
*Actually I'll probably just write it down as it happens and post it here afterwards. I'm not about to do some kind of BBC live text thing.
Tuesday, 21 June 2011
Rocket Summer
Cliffey's in work at the moment, and he's gonna be there 'til around midnight, so I'm guessing the jam sandwich-eating contest is off.
Rocket Summer, then. A good while ago (quite possibly the other side of the new year, I don't rightly remember), some of us went down to The Record Shop* to have a look at what they had to offer. Cliffey stumbled upon an album by The Rocket Summer - a band he persists in liking even though I saw them at T in the Park once and have repeatedly told him that they're not that great - and being as it only cost a pound he promptly bought it.
But it later transpired that it wasn't the work of The Rocket Summer at all. It was in fact by a local band called The Afternoons, who had rather selfishly titled their album Rocket Summer**. Presumably so that folks like Cliffey would pick it up by accident.
Anyway, Cliffey gave it a listen and decided that while it was okay, it wasn't what he was after. And that would have appeared to be it.
I'm not sure why he was suddenly so desperate to get rid of the album on Saturday night - maybe he got a bit too drunk and thought it was cursed - but he decided that he would offload it on me. As with anyone who offers me a free gift, I was suspicious of his motives (and hell, I didn't want to listen to anything that was merely okay) and no sooner had I discovered the album case left on my bed than I placed it outside his door for him to discover in the morning.
I think my rejection may have hurt his feelings, so I said that we could listen to the album in the car while we were out picking up organs and such. If I liked it, I would take it off his hands (jeez, I really come off as quite ungrateful in this story).
As it turns out, I did like it. And so did Cliffey. Its vibrant, summery tunes were somewhat at odds with the deluge that was pushing Xander's windshield wipers to the limit, but for an album that cost £1, it was a great success.
The result being that I now want it, and Cliffey wants to keep it.
Oy. Maybe some sort of jam sandwich-eating competition would distract him long enough for me to steal it?
Joel.
* It's just called 'The Record Shop'. It's off Albany Road and it's easily my favourite place to rummage, check it out.
** The band The Rocket Summer have been around longer than that album, in case you're wondering. Although in truth neither artist is original, both having taken the phrase 'The Rocket Summer' from the title of a short story by Ray Bradbury. Now you know.
Monday, 20 June 2011
Father's Day & What Happened Before
At my parents' house yesterday, having handed my dad his card and Burn After Reading DVD, I was asked how Tom's party had been the night before.
I gave some vague answer, something along the lines of "yeah, pretty good", which was a fair summary of the overall night but did omit some important details like the broken toilet flusher and the people doing ketamine off Death Cab For Cutie CDs. I suppose I decided that my parents wouldn't be interested.
All of that aside, though, I think people enjoyed themselves. I had a rather in-depth conversation with Tom Rookes on the subject of living in uni halls, Cliffey and Dave organised a jam sandwich-eating contest, Padbury tried to light his farts...
Oh, and there was absinthe. Goblin-green, nostril-stinging absinthe. Tom brought some back as a souvenir of his adventures in Magaluf, and a few of us gave it a go. Mark and myself had trouble with it, eventually resorting to slapping the wall in a vain attempt to take the taste away; Pete took a sip and immediately fell on the floor.
But it was Sarah who was the real absinthe hero. She actually seemed to enjoy it, taking multiple shots of the stuff and commenting with a smile that it tasted "warm".
There were also ongoing shenanigans involving myself, Cliffey and an album by local band The Afternoons. But more on that another day, one when I don't have important events to review.
That sandwich-eating contest is supposed to be tomorrow, actually. Maybe I'll give you some sort of play-by-play.
Joel.
P.S. Cliffey and I went to pick up my organ today, the one I won on eBay for 99p. You'll be pleased to hear that it fit into Xander quite snugly (once we'd put the seats down), and is in fine working order. It even has a built-in drum machine, so you can play along to awesome beats! Cliffey suggested that we record me playing organ versions of various tunes from the original Pokémon games and play them at our upcoming Pokémon party, but I countered by recommending that we just download said music from vgmusic.com instead.
I gave some vague answer, something along the lines of "yeah, pretty good", which was a fair summary of the overall night but did omit some important details like the broken toilet flusher and the people doing ketamine off Death Cab For Cutie CDs. I suppose I decided that my parents wouldn't be interested.
All of that aside, though, I think people enjoyed themselves. I had a rather in-depth conversation with Tom Rookes on the subject of living in uni halls, Cliffey and Dave organised a jam sandwich-eating contest, Padbury tried to light his farts...
Oh, and there was absinthe. Goblin-green, nostril-stinging absinthe. Tom brought some back as a souvenir of his adventures in Magaluf, and a few of us gave it a go. Mark and myself had trouble with it, eventually resorting to slapping the wall in a vain attempt to take the taste away; Pete took a sip and immediately fell on the floor.
But it was Sarah who was the real absinthe hero. She actually seemed to enjoy it, taking multiple shots of the stuff and commenting with a smile that it tasted "warm".
There were also ongoing shenanigans involving myself, Cliffey and an album by local band The Afternoons. But more on that another day, one when I don't have important events to review.
That sandwich-eating contest is supposed to be tomorrow, actually. Maybe I'll give you some sort of play-by-play.
Joel.
P.S. Cliffey and I went to pick up my organ today, the one I won on eBay for 99p. You'll be pleased to hear that it fit into Xander quite snugly (once we'd put the seats down), and is in fine working order. It even has a built-in drum machine, so you can play along to awesome beats! Cliffey suggested that we record me playing organ versions of various tunes from the original Pokémon games and play them at our upcoming Pokémon party, but I countered by recommending that we just download said music from vgmusic.com instead.
Saturday, 18 June 2011
Tidy for the Party
Great Scott, he's done it!
Pete, assisted by his happy little elves Meic and Rob, have cleaned the house, and to a remarkable standard!
In fact, I'm sad that there's going to be a party now. It'll make a mess again.
Sorry guys, party's off. We're going to enjoy our clean house.
Joel.
P.S. Not really. Malibu time!
Pete, assisted by his happy little elves Meic and Rob, have cleaned the house, and to a remarkable standard!
In fact, I'm sad that there's going to be a party now. It'll make a mess again.
Sorry guys, party's off. We're going to enjoy our clean house.
Joel.
P.S. Not really. Malibu time!
Friday, 17 June 2011
Operation Polaris
It's a bloody mess here at the moment. Landlord Paul emailed me the other day to ask when would be a good time to show a prospective tenant around, and I've still not replied because I simply don't know when it's going to be clean again.
So it's Pete to the rescue. A few days a go he promised me that he would soon begin what he called "Operation Polaris"; when I asked him what exactly this would entail he just laughed evilly for a moment.
Well it turns out that Operation Polaris = doing the washing up. As I may have mentioned to Tom yesterday, I'll believe it when I see it. I think Pete said he would do it yesterday, but in the words of William Shatner, it hasn't happened yet. Sarah and I went to see Avenue Q with my family last night (it was hilarious), and upon our return we were greeted by what seemed to be an even larger pile of dishes in need of doing.
So Operation Polaris is still pending initialisation. It's Tom's birthday today and he's having his party here tomorrow, but we shall see whether or not the house will be tidy enough to host that sort of thing by then.
I suppose we could make some sort of party game out of tidying up. Most crisp packets picked up from the living room floor wins one night of steamy Tom time.
I imagine he'd be down with that.
Joel.
P.S. Here is a visual representation of a train of thought I experienced while browsing in HMV this morning:
So it's Pete to the rescue. A few days a go he promised me that he would soon begin what he called "Operation Polaris"; when I asked him what exactly this would entail he just laughed evilly for a moment.
Well it turns out that Operation Polaris = doing the washing up. As I may have mentioned to Tom yesterday, I'll believe it when I see it. I think Pete said he would do it yesterday, but in the words of William Shatner, it hasn't happened yet. Sarah and I went to see Avenue Q with my family last night (it was hilarious), and upon our return we were greeted by what seemed to be an even larger pile of dishes in need of doing.
So Operation Polaris is still pending initialisation. It's Tom's birthday today and he's having his party here tomorrow, but we shall see whether or not the house will be tidy enough to host that sort of thing by then.
I suppose we could make some sort of party game out of tidying up. Most crisp packets picked up from the living room floor wins one night of steamy Tom time.
I imagine he'd be down with that.
Joel.
P.S. Here is a visual representation of a train of thought I experienced while browsing in HMV this morning:
Thursday, 16 June 2011
Filling You In
I won the Hammond Organ. 99p it went for in the end. Now we just have to pick it up.
I've no idea where I'm going to put it.
Joel.
I've no idea where I'm going to put it.
Joel.
Wednesday, 15 June 2011
Impulse Organ Buying
Terrible news for my bank balance! As of the past week or so, I have unearthed my passion for buying stuff on eBay. So far I have purchased Nick Cave's The Firstborn Is Dead (on CD), Neil Young's After The Goldrush (on vinyl - Sarah's dad is giving her a record player that will accompany us into Gem's room when she moves out), and an Adventure Time t-shirt for Sarah (although to be fair she did give me the money for that).
Also I'm currently bidding on a Hammond organ. The seller is Cardiff-based, and Cliffey said that he'd help me pick it up if I won it.
I'm not sure why, he has enough badly-played music to endure from the instruments I already have.
Anyway, the auction ends around midday tomorrow, so I'll let you know if I won or not.
Joel.
Also I'm currently bidding on a Hammond organ. The seller is Cardiff-based, and Cliffey said that he'd help me pick it up if I won it.
I'm not sure why, he has enough badly-played music to endure from the instruments I already have.
Anyway, the auction ends around midday tomorrow, so I'll let you know if I won or not.
Joel.
Tuesday, 14 June 2011
Utonium, Utonium - Jen's Party
Yesterday was not Jen Brooksby's 19th birthday, but it was (somewhat inexplicably) the day she chose to celebrate it.
Everyone was supposed to come in fancy dress, the theme being musicians. There were two Adam Ants, two Rihannas, an Axl Rose, a Britney Spears, and numerous others. A lot of people had put a fair amount of effort into their costumes.
None of them were us. In retrospect I should have been Jarvis Cocker; I already have the hair and a tweed jacket (courtesy of Tim Penn...the jacket, not the hair) and some thick-rimmed glasses would not have been hard to come by.
But this did not occur to me in time. Nor did the thought of bringing Tom along and just going as Tom & Joel.
Ten minutes before leaving the house, Cliffey was running around his room, trying to think of a musician he could dress up as using items he already owned (Sarah and I were sorted by this point, albeit in a fairly lazy way - she had on a Beastie Boys tee, I was wearing my British Sea Power top, so we were going as the Beastie Boys and British Sea Power). Eventually, he decided to wear his tiger onesie to Jen's house, because that way he could be...
...Cat Stevens.
I was taken aback with the excellence of this pun and immediately got a better idea than British Sea Power. I grabbed the gangster hat from the coat pegs in the hallway and, as I donned I dramatically announced that I would be attending under the guise of...
...Hat Stevens.
Now we had to think of a Cat Stevens pun for Sarah to be. We could write 'Welcome' on her forehead (Mat Stevens) or do her hair up (Plait Stevens) or put a cushion up her shirt (Fat Stevens) or have her spend the evening conversing in rhythmic gibberish (Scat Stevens) or have her wear a toga and drink a lot (Frat Stevens)...
This went on all the way to Penarth. None of these ideas were carried out.
Anyway, I spent most of the party using Jen's Virgin Media XL package to watch The Powerpuff Girls on demand with the sound off (someone, presumably an asshat, thought it would be a good idea to have music at a party), trying to guess what was going on.
I had fun.
Joel.
P.S. Some of the partygoers took the proceedings to Oceana, where festivities no doubt continued long into the night. I didn't go, because I knew I had to be up at 5ish this morning to go to work and wanted to get a decent night's sleep. Sadly this plan was scuppered when Sarah, Tom, Meic, Pete and a guitar all congregated in the room at 3am for a chat. Oh well.
Everyone was supposed to come in fancy dress, the theme being musicians. There were two Adam Ants, two Rihannas, an Axl Rose, a Britney Spears, and numerous others. A lot of people had put a fair amount of effort into their costumes.
None of them were us. In retrospect I should have been Jarvis Cocker; I already have the hair and a tweed jacket (courtesy of Tim Penn...the jacket, not the hair) and some thick-rimmed glasses would not have been hard to come by.
But this did not occur to me in time. Nor did the thought of bringing Tom along and just going as Tom & Joel.
Ten minutes before leaving the house, Cliffey was running around his room, trying to think of a musician he could dress up as using items he already owned (Sarah and I were sorted by this point, albeit in a fairly lazy way - she had on a Beastie Boys tee, I was wearing my British Sea Power top, so we were going as the Beastie Boys and British Sea Power). Eventually, he decided to wear his tiger onesie to Jen's house, because that way he could be...
...Cat Stevens.
I was taken aback with the excellence of this pun and immediately got a better idea than British Sea Power. I grabbed the gangster hat from the coat pegs in the hallway and, as I donned I dramatically announced that I would be attending under the guise of...
...Hat Stevens.
Now we had to think of a Cat Stevens pun for Sarah to be. We could write 'Welcome' on her forehead (Mat Stevens) or do her hair up (Plait Stevens) or put a cushion up her shirt (Fat Stevens) or have her spend the evening conversing in rhythmic gibberish (Scat Stevens) or have her wear a toga and drink a lot (Frat Stevens)...
This went on all the way to Penarth. None of these ideas were carried out.
Anyway, I spent most of the party using Jen's Virgin Media XL package to watch The Powerpuff Girls on demand with the sound off (someone, presumably an asshat, thought it would be a good idea to have music at a party), trying to guess what was going on.
I had fun.
Joel.
P.S. Some of the partygoers took the proceedings to Oceana, where festivities no doubt continued long into the night. I didn't go, because I knew I had to be up at 5ish this morning to go to work and wanted to get a decent night's sleep. Sadly this plan was scuppered when Sarah, Tom, Meic, Pete and a guitar all congregated in the room at 3am for a chat. Oh well.
Monday, 13 June 2011
Shmowzow!
There is a great sadness in Room 2 at the moment. A great sadness, for we have run out of Adventure Time episodes to watch.
We have been enjoying Finn and Jake's escapades for a few weeks now, but alas it has come to an end. At least until series three airs and some kind soul puts it on YouTube.
Sure, we have attempted to fill the void with X-Men movies, and those are great. But you'll never see Wolverine and the gang looking after secretly evil piglets in adorable outfits, or terrorising Lumpy Space Princess because they think they're invisible.
Nor has any of the dialogue from X-Men infiltrated by day-to-day speech (although admittedly I do frequently find myself humming the theme tune from the cartoon). It's surprising how useful phrases like 'shmowzow' and 'I'll kill you Lumpy Space!' can be.
So yeah. We may be out of options, but you, dear reader, are not. Have a watch.
Actual news tomorrow.
Joel.
Saturday, 11 June 2011
Llamas Reunited
So I totes had a gig last night. Got the ol' band back together.
It was down at The Gower pub, where we've played at least three times before. It's a pretty cool place for a gig because you can play pool, snooker, pub quiz machine, and possibly even skittles while you're not rockin' out to the tasty jams of Llama Invasion.
Or indeed Taffia, the crazy old man electro band who we were basically supporting even though they were on before us. I know, I had trouble getting my head 'round that too.
The gig went pretty well, although my voice more or less conked out about halfway through the set, leaving me sounding like a Tom Waits going through puberty under a van. Meic made it sound rather cooler ("Satan was in the room tonight!") but that's wishful thinking, probably. I even tried drinking beer to restore my frayed vocal chords (seems no-one in the room had any water) but alas, to no avail. But hey, at least Taffia's mad dancing lady got on da flo' for some of our songs, too. That was...amusing.
Tom was there last night, among others. He's just come back from Magaluf and, well, he had some interesting experiences there. What happened, you ask? Well, a woman stole his kebab and...that's pretty much the only one suitable for publication.
So to make up for that, here's a short review of X-Men: First Class, which Sarah and I went to see earlier:
Frikkin' awesome!
Joel.
It was down at The Gower pub, where we've played at least three times before. It's a pretty cool place for a gig because you can play pool, snooker, pub quiz machine, and possibly even skittles while you're not rockin' out to the tasty jams of Llama Invasion.
Or indeed Taffia, the crazy old man electro band who we were basically supporting even though they were on before us. I know, I had trouble getting my head 'round that too.
The gig went pretty well, although my voice more or less conked out about halfway through the set, leaving me sounding like a Tom Waits going through puberty under a van. Meic made it sound rather cooler ("Satan was in the room tonight!") but that's wishful thinking, probably. I even tried drinking beer to restore my frayed vocal chords (seems no-one in the room had any water) but alas, to no avail. But hey, at least Taffia's mad dancing lady got on da flo' for some of our songs, too. That was...amusing.
Tom was there last night, among others. He's just come back from Magaluf and, well, he had some interesting experiences there. What happened, you ask? Well, a woman stole his kebab and...that's pretty much the only one suitable for publication.
So to make up for that, here's a short review of X-Men: First Class, which Sarah and I went to see earlier:
Frikkin' awesome!
Joel.
Thursday, 9 June 2011
Another One of Our Bright Ideas
We came up with this late last night, Cliffey decided he wanted to make a web cartoon thingy similar to Llamas With Hats and this was the result, or at least the beginning of it.
* * *
We see a tourism advert for Las Vegas, after which we immediately cut to a shot of a bungalow in the middle of the Mojave Desert. Dwelling within are Clarence Q. Pineapple and John Penguin, Jr. They briefly complain about their living situation (which is Penguin's fault in some way), before we cut to...
OPENING CREDITS
Penguin and Pineapple are watching a children's TV show, which is interrupted by a news bulletin warning viewers of a zebra murderer on the loose. Pineapple and Penguin look out the window to see a zebra frolicking in the desert outside. They discuss whether or not to alert the authorities, when suddenly they look back to see the zebra silently staring in at them. They exchange glances, and after a minute or two of tense silence, the zebra greets them in an overly friendly manner.
Z: "HI!"
Pgn: ...
Pnpple: ...Are you gonna murder us?
Z: Probably! I have killed over 17,000 people!
Pineapple and Penguin excuse themselves to the kitchen to discuss their options.
Pgn: "What should we do?"
Pnpple: "Well I can't run away, I ain't got no feet!"
They wonder aloud how one gets rid of a psychotic zebra.
Pgn: "Would it help if we played dead?"
Z: (From the next room) "If you play dead I'll kill ya!"
* * *
To be continued, possibly.
Joel.
* * *
CRANBERRY PANDA
We see a tourism advert for Las Vegas, after which we immediately cut to a shot of a bungalow in the middle of the Mojave Desert. Dwelling within are Clarence Q. Pineapple and John Penguin, Jr. They briefly complain about their living situation (which is Penguin's fault in some way), before we cut to...
OPENING CREDITS
Penguin and Pineapple are watching a children's TV show, which is interrupted by a news bulletin warning viewers of a zebra murderer on the loose. Pineapple and Penguin look out the window to see a zebra frolicking in the desert outside. They discuss whether or not to alert the authorities, when suddenly they look back to see the zebra silently staring in at them. They exchange glances, and after a minute or two of tense silence, the zebra greets them in an overly friendly manner.
Z: "HI!"
Pgn: ...
Pnpple: ...Are you gonna murder us?
Z: Probably! I have killed over 17,000 people!
Pineapple and Penguin excuse themselves to the kitchen to discuss their options.
Pgn: "What should we do?"
Pnpple: "Well I can't run away, I ain't got no feet!"
They wonder aloud how one gets rid of a psychotic zebra.
Pgn: "Would it help if we played dead?"
Z: (From the next room) "If you play dead I'll kill ya!"
* * *
To be continued, possibly.
Joel.
Wednesday, 8 June 2011
One-Eyed Seagull
For those of you who weren't aware (i.e. most of you), I used to write this thing called The Monthly Scandal. You can read some of it here, and more will be uploaded with time.
It was conceived as a biting parody of celebrity gossip mags like Heat and those 'Real Life' magazines like That's Life and Pick Me Up. When writing TMS - and just for reference this would have been 3-5 years ago now - I would occasionally feel I had gone a little overboard, and written something that was just too silly. The one about Anna's quest is a good example of one that just relies on silly made-up words to be funny.
But even that one seems believable when you see some of the stories that actually wind up in these magazines. In W.H. Smith's earlier I was glancing over a display when one, I think it was called 'It's Fate' or something like that, caught my eye. There were a few odd headlines, but I think my favourite was this one:
It was conceived as a biting parody of celebrity gossip mags like Heat and those 'Real Life' magazines like That's Life and Pick Me Up. When writing TMS - and just for reference this would have been 3-5 years ago now - I would occasionally feel I had gone a little overboard, and written something that was just too silly. The one about Anna's quest is a good example of one that just relies on silly made-up words to be funny.
But even that one seems believable when you see some of the stories that actually wind up in these magazines. In W.H. Smith's earlier I was glancing over a display when one, I think it was called 'It's Fate' or something like that, caught my eye. There were a few odd headlines, but I think my favourite was this one:
ONE-EYED SEAGULL POSSESSES MY WRONGED ENEMY'S SPIRIT
Now I feel like I was a bit too reliant on gritty realism.
Joel.
Tuesday, 7 June 2011
Xander & A Solero Mocktail
Cliffey has his car back.
Remember this blog? Well disregard it, because Cliffey has his car back.
Sarah was working yesterday evening, and it wasn't hard to persuade Cliffey to drive to Next and pick her up at 7 (he was pretty excited just to be driving again). After a brief diversion involving some Penarth girls and waiting far too long to get served at Buffalo bar (although in all fairness their chips and that Solero mocktail thing were awesomatic), we decided to go to Sarah's house in Swanbridge and pick up the door that her dad had been keeping for Cliffey (he wants to make a dartboard stand or something, I don't know).
So we made the journey to Swanbridge, humming along to Klezmer Kollectiv all the while, but upon our arrival we encountered a problem: the door didn't really fit in the car.
We tried our best. Cliffey folded down seats, twisted and turned it but eventually admitted defeat.
But all was not in vain, for in addition for the lovely drive, we ended up going to Harvester afterwards.
We were very full afterwards. Good to have you back, Xander.
Joel.
So we made the journey to Swanbridge, humming along to Klezmer Kollectiv all the while, but upon our arrival we encountered a problem: the door didn't really fit in the car.
We tried our best. Cliffey folded down seats, twisted and turned it but eventually admitted defeat.
But all was not in vain, for in addition for the lovely drive, we ended up going to Harvester afterwards.
We were very full afterwards. Good to have you back, Xander.
Joel.
Monday, 6 June 2011
Digimon Remains Totally Awesome
Three shifts this week, Monday Tuesday Wednesday. Each one a 7am start, so Thursday morning will be glorious. I mentioned to Sarah earlier that I might set my alarm for 5am on Thursday too, just so I'm awake to enjoy the fact that I don't have to get up.
So I just finished the first of those three shifts and today I was using the scanners, which are these little handheld gadgets that tell you whether that particular garment is going out on the shop floor or sticking around in the stock room. Basically I like it because it makes me feel like one of the DigiDestined.
This afternoon I will be attending to my other job, namely manager of Chester City FC in 2003. I'm a pretty mediocre football manager, but it still remains to be seen whether or not I'm better at working in a stockroom.
At any rate, it's not all work work work. Yesterday Sarah and I relaxed by watching Michael Moore's record-breaking documentary Farenheit 9/11 (this actually kind of counted as revision for her, she's got a film exam on Wednesday and one of the questions is on documentaries). As it turns out, war and George W. Bush are both bad things.
It was good really.
Joel.
Saturday, 4 June 2011
Dolphins: The Rapists of the Sea
Bristol was awesome, as 0o gy9fgujgkghkj
Let me try that again. Bristol was awesome, as Bristol always is, particularly on a day as sunny as today. I spent far too much money in Fopp, as I always do, particularly when I can actually kind of afford it.
However, given the Slutwalk that was happening in Cardiff today (not that I knew about that, I was in Bristol), I think I have a more relevant topic to discuss in today's entry.
Sarah and I went to my parents' house this evening to enjoy some dinner and chat, and not for the first time my acute fear of ostriches was brought to the table. I was, not for the first time, trying coolly to explain that it's a perfectly rational phobia and screw it I'm just going to quote WikiHow again:
Let me try that again. Bristol was awesome, as Bristol always is, particularly on a day as sunny as today. I spent far too much money in Fopp, as I always do, particularly when I can actually kind of afford it.
However, given the Slutwalk that was happening in Cardiff today (not that I knew about that, I was in Bristol), I think I have a more relevant topic to discuss in today's entry.
Sarah and I went to my parents' house this evening to enjoy some dinner and chat, and not for the first time my acute fear of ostriches was brought to the table. I was, not for the first time, trying coolly to explain that it's a perfectly rational phobia and screw it I'm just going to quote WikiHow again:
"An ostrich attack...is straight out of Jurassic Park. Like that movie's velociraptors, ostriches are fast--they can run at up to 45 mph--and they have a sharp nail on each of their feet that is capable of slicing a person open with one kick. Unlike velociraptors, however, an ostrich can reach more than nine feet tall and 350 pounds."
Anyway, I was trying to persuade everyone else of the above facts when my brother Nathan suggested that dolphins were a more sensible animal to fear than ostriches. Naturally we all disagreed, pointing out that dolphins rescue drowning humans and, in my mother's words, "swim with autistics", when Nathan shut us all up my claiming that dolphins are the only animals capable of rape.
Wow. We were momentarily stunned, but before long our juices started flowing again and we collectively remembered all the times that we've seen a boy pigeon trying to get his bone on with a girl pigeon who isn't that keen. And does that even count as rape? Can animals give consent?
Eventually we decided to disregard Nathan's theory, and having just had a look on the internet the evidence behind it seems pretty flimsy. I did, however, uncover this little gem on Wikipedia:
"Problems with encouraging pandas to mate in captivity have been very common. However, showing young male pandas 'panda pornography' is widely credited with a recent population boom among pandas in zoos."
How we laughed.
Joel.
P.S. Another thing we were discussing over our steaks was the kind of monastery (don't ask) populated entirely by monks keeping a vow of silence. When asked if they still existed, my dad replied "yes", and I added, "But they're very hush hush." I was embarrassed at the time but, in retrospect, I'm quite pleased with that.
Friday, 3 June 2011
Slow News Day
I have spent today in my pyjamas so I don't really have very much to say here at the moment. However, I promised an update every day so here are some pictures of baby seals:
Basically Sarah and I were playing Ludo earlier and there's a bunch of animals drawn all over the board and my favourite is the baby seal.
Joel.
Thursday, 2 June 2011
WKD RNT
At any rate, before I boot up Cubase 5 to compose some beatz, I've a topic to discuss with you all. On my way here, I passed a bus shelter advert for the new purple WKD, and in large, white capitals it posed the question, "IT'S NEW. IT'S WKD. IT'S PURPLE. WHAT'S NOT TO LIKE?"
Well, I don't have much else to report today - my yesterday evening mostly consisted of losing at Tetris - so I'm going to answer that question, thereby gunning the campaign down with my twin pistols of wit and exhaustive research.
IT'S NEW.
Is that always a good thing? Sure, new is exciting and shiny but behind that polished exterior lies disappointment and depression. Each new Pirates of the Caribbean film is worse than the last. Albums that come out nowadays are seldom as good as Attack of the Grey Lantern. And the best new chocolate bars to hit the shelves tend to be the ones that were already discontinued once and have been resurrected by tireless Facebook campaigns (and if everyone could get behind this one, that would be lovely, ta).
I'm popping down the shop in a bit, would you prefer a Wispa or a Spots v Stripes bar?
Exactly. New is crap.
IT'S WKD.
Back in my teetotal days, when even asking me to hold your drink would be met with a look of distinct mistrust, I was often told that WKD and other alcopops were a good place to start, alcohol-wise. They don't taste that much of actual alcohol, and this, presumably coupled with the fact that it comes in a squishy bottle, means that a lot of teenage girls start here before wading into heavier stuff.
Eventually I was talked into trying a sip or two of WKD, and lo and behold, it tasted...not great.
So between a mediocre flavour and the fact that it has probably introduced thousands of wide-eyed teenagers to binge drinking, I'm sure we can find something to hold against it. Like the name: 'WKD Original Vodka'. Really? Because I'm reliably informed by Wikipedia that:
"According to the Gin and Vodka Association (GVA), the first documented production of vodka...was in Russia in the late 9th century."Hm. Let's check the WKD article:
"The drink was first marketed in Scotland under the name 'Wicked' and was launched in August 1996."9th Century Russia...Scotland, Summer of '96. You decide which is the 'original' vodka.
IT'S PURPLE.
It's back to Wikipedia to tell us the problem there:
"In parts of East Asian countries such as Japan, purple is known as the color of death."Now obviously that's a cultural thing that doesn't really apply in the UK, but you know what else purple is associated with? Royalty. And let's see what unbiased social commentators Republic have to say about royalty:
"The monarchy is damaging to those caught up in it, it is unaccountable and it acts as a drag on our democratic process."Much like WKD.
WHAT'S NOT TO LIKE?
Several things, as I feel I have shown rather thoroughly by now. In bullet point form, then:
- It's not something we've seen before, and as there was no Facebook campaign for the purple WKD I think we can all agree that there's no demand for it whatsoever.
- It claims to be vodka when it clearly isn't.
- WKD is basically responsible for the corruption of Britain's youths.
- If past form is to be believed, it probably doesn't taste that nice.
- Japanese people will associate it with death (think of the decline in tourism!)
- It's a "drag on our democratic process".
The weather's nicer today, isn't it?
Joel.
Wednesday, 1 June 2011
June 1st
Today is the first of June, which means several things:
- It's the first day of summer! Although the weather outside doesn't quite see it that way.
- Thing #1 doesn't apply to any readers in the southern hemisphere, of course. For them, June is pretty much the equivalent of December, so I guess that today is also the first day of Advent. Pretty crazy, I know.
- Speaking of the southern hemisphere, today is Samoan Independence Day. Samoans the world over (although admittedly the proceedings are probably most concentrated in Samoa) are celebrating their mother land's independence from those notorious dictators, New Zealand (boooo!).
- May, a month in which I updated this blog an astoundingly poor 4 times - joint lowest with December, but even December had that huge entry with the 69 songs - is officially over, so for what feels like the umpteenth time I'm resolving to start writing here every day. Bet you're all really excited, huh?
There were several other reasons today was going to be a big day, including Cliffey getting Xander back from the garage and Gem moving out and Sarah and I moving into her ginormous master bedroom. However, Cliffey has not heard from the garage and I've got a feeling that Gem moves out on the first of July, not June, so it's looking like a fairly quiet day from our point of view.
Yesterday, by contrast, actually was pretty busy. I started work in the stockroom at Next, and did so adequately that those in charge saw fit to give me two extra shifts next week (that's a good thing...probably). Sarah, who started on Monday, is also doing well, and tomorrow she will be working a full eight-hour shift.
Pundits have pretty much unanimously predicted an achy-legged Friday at Tewkesbury Place.
We also went to see We Are Scientists last night, and they were awesome, if somewhat pre-occupied with the fact that we'd just had a bank holiday weekend.
I'd barely noticed, although now I think about it I did spend the Monday eating zebra, snails, impala, and all manner of other things at Mark's birthday barbecue.
So I guess I did celebrate it a bit. Happy Independence Day Samoa.
Joel.
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