missprint

Warning: Ranty entry ahead.

My broadband has ceased working and my life is literally falling apart
without the presence of the Internet. I'm writing this entry from work
(where the electricity seems to have blown out in half the building so
consequently I'm writing this from the only computer that is working at the
moment, natch. It does mean that I have to sit in the reception area with
the creepy security guard, hoping against hope that he won't make awkward
conversation with me. Thankfully, he seems to have disappeared to tamper
with the terrapins. Or something to that effect) so unfortunately, no
YouTubery today. However, being at work and having just discharged a ferret
hand puppet means that I can bring this fact to you from the hand puppet
tag: "The black-footed ferret is the rarest mammal in North America. It is a
seriously endangered species." Scintillating, no?

Also, I phoned up Orange last night to see if there was anything they could
do about my broadband (or lack of thereof) but I knew that it was a doomed
cause as my livebox pages kept on uttering the doom-laden phrase "PPP server
down" (what does it meeaaann?? Sigh.) Still on the plus side, the technician
who I was on the phone with had a lovely Geordie accent and I spent the 15
minutes of the call ineptly flirting with him. (Yes, I do so badly need to
get a life. Maybe the lack of Internet will force my hand on this front. On
the other hand, I'll probably just spend more time trying to finish Cloud
Atlas and watch Serenity again and cry over Wash's death and
marvel over Simon's hitherto unseen muscular back. Anyway.) More reasons for
the rant: I have a headache due to my alice band which is too small for my
head; my back is roasting from sitting in front of this window; I didn't win
the Lily Allen Bush Hall ticket competition (but I thoroughly recommend Music Like Dirt anyway for
high-quality, albeit slightly more indie music blogging) and I'm starving
and the toaster isn't working. If the Turkish cafe don't have any meze boxes
left for lunch, I shall have a nervous breakdown of such a magnitude that
I'll probably collapse in a crumpled sobbing heap in the middle of
Camberwell. So, the lovely Geordie tech said that it might be five days
(five days!!) before I get my broadband back so I shall be off-radar for a
while. I'm off to actually do some work (on the other hand, I'm tempted to
sling the boa constrictor hand puppet around my neck and pretend that I'm
Britney), so I bid you a tearful farewell dear readers. Until we meet again,
pip pip.

I never thought that I would see the day where I got bored just lazing around at home all day but I reached that particular nadir around Tuesday. Rather fortuitously, on Wednesday I got a phone call from my boss asking me whether I was free to work today and I jumped at the chance. I think I had a little of the first-night-of-school type nerves because I couldn't get to sleep until about 3am (and even that was under the duress of switching the light out and squeezing my eyes shut, trying to will myself to sleep) and then woke up at 7am a whole hour before my alarm was due to go off. I decided that rather than risk falling asleep again and waking up grumpy because I was awoken by my alarm, I would just get an early start.

So, after loading up my iPod with some new goodies, I set out with a spring in my step and decided to walk to work with the Lily Allen chirruping in my ears. I used to walk everywhere before I learnt how to drive so I've become progressively more and more lazy in the past few years. So, you can imagine how chuffed I was to discover that I beat my driving time to work and walked there in 25 minutes. Yay. I arrived at work to discover no-one there and no work to do so I spent my morning pottering around, making cups of tea with pilfered posh organic green tea bags and doing the Heat crossword. Then Lindsey arrived toting the Green & Black's Chocolate Cook Book, so naturellement another half an hour was spent bookmarking everything I want to bake. I have relatively adventurous gastronomic tastes but even I can't stomach the idea of savoury chocolate recipes. (Swedish Chocolate Coffee Lamb anyone? Quote: "Don't dare tell your friends what's in this dish until they have eaten it." How about Chocolate Courgette Loaf or Chilean Chocolate Sausages? Bleurgh.) However, my interest was piqued by the Aztec-esque recipes for Chocolate Chilli Muffins and proper Xocolatl (very Mrs. Coulter-esque), so I think my weekend will be spent melting copious amounts of pricey organic chocolate.

As my productivity took a sharp decrease after lunch as my lack of sleep hit me, I suddenly found myself transfixed by my waggling fingers encased in a bumblebee glove puppet. A whole day of working in a separate room on your own with only Radio 1 for company will do that to you. I was determined not to perpetuate the vicious circle of messed-up sleep patterns by falling asleep as soon as I got home but rather predictably I failed. Only to be woken up by a voicemail from Lindsey. She had phoned to brag about having blagged her way into the filming of Transmission as it was being filmed at her friend's art studio. Meaty chunks of showbiz gossip for you: Lauren Laverne apparently "smells very nice, she obviously wears some kind of cocoa butter" and Steve Jones looks "very haggard close up." Also, the audience of Transmission was made up of "lots of screaming girls and boys with haircuts." Needless to say, I think my dear friend was more than a little gin-soaked. She's probably throwing her knickers at Jose Gonzalez as I type.

I was going to do a Top Five of talky bits in songs but I still haven't thought of five yet. So instead...

Top Five YouTubes of the Week

One // Jump! It's the Aliens of London



Yes, it's a Girls Aloud/Doctor Who mash-up. Goodness me, I think I might need a cold shower.

Two // "Why you gotta play that song so loud?"



Arise Dame Billie of Piper for possible the best Smash Hits Poll Winner's Party performance...ever. It's Because We Want To performed in 18th century ballgowns. AMAZING. It is scientific fact that any pop performance conducted in period gear is instantly elevated to galactic levels of pop greatness. (See also Biz Markie's Just A Friend.)

Three // The Doctor Dance



I know, more Doctor Who YouTubery but being quite a fan of the YouTube karaoke phenomenon, how could I resist watching an 11 year old boy doing a rather demented arms aloft dance to the closing credits theme tune?

Four // RIP TOTP



An ode to the institution that is Top of the Pops (and Fearne Cotton). "Jungle is massiv". Ahem.

Five // Ian Wright: Pundit



Obviously worth watching for Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant's sketch on England footballing tactics (yes, even fervent anti-football viewers such as myself found this entertaining). However, all this is overshadowed by two things: Ian Wright's distinctly un-PC comment and the embarassed silence that ensued afterwards.

Anyway, I am off to try and cram in another film before I go to bed because the last thing I watched was The Ring 2 and I need something to take my mind off the video nasty heebie jeebies. I bid you all bonne nuit and happy weekend!

So, last Doctor Who of the season and last Doctor Who with Rose Tyler in the passenger seat. I think I've just about recovered from crying over the departure of Dame Billie of Piper to sufficiently write my customary review in note form for Army of Ghosts/Doomsday:

- Ooh, I do enjoy a Doctor Who two-parter and I fully agree with Charlie Brooker that next season is definately time to wheel out a three or four-part story (preferably scripted by Mark Gatiss rather than Russell T. Davis or Steven Moffat - no more cringey pop culture references and jokes about bananas please Doctor Who script writers. Thank you!)
- Not so much a comment about the episode but the bit in Army of Ghosts where the ghosts are milling about a square amongst some children playing is right outside where I work. So you can imagine I got quite spooked walking through said square the next day to go to work, I kept expecting to be attacked by a non-corporeal Cyberman.
- Also again, not so much a comment on the episode but I so knew those ghosts were Cybermen in disguise.
- I liked all the random Doctor&Rose adventures that we glimpsed at the beginning of Army of Ghosts. And also Rose on the bus eating chips.
- How excited was I to see yet another shoutout to Peckham in a Doctor Who episode? Apparently, the Powell estate is located in SE15 - Rose a Peckham girl? Yay.
- I know it's overegging the whole Number-Ten-does-domestic thing but I loved the part with Jackie planting a huge one on the Doctor.
- It's nice to know that in the not-too distant future, office IM systems will still be used to conduct clandestine stationary cupboard affairs. (By the way, having little office experience myself, do such office IM systems even exist or are they a myth of TV and film land?)
- So why didn't anyone notice that the office lovebirds had suddenly taken to wearing two flashing headsets each?
- A double-thumbs up for lots of Jackie running about in inappropriate clothing, hurrah!
- And an even bigger yay for the return of everybody's favourite freedom-fighting-couple-with-no-homoerotic-undertones-whatsoever, Mickey and Jake!
- Excellent to see ex-Eastenders cast members being put to use! Although, both you dear reader and myself know that I am really referring to the fabulous Goddess with Corkscrew Mop, Tracey-Ann Oberman and not that-other-one-who-was-out-of-the-Ferreiras. I wish that Yvonne hadn't died though because she would have elevated the inevitably dodgy Torchwood to at least so-bad-it's-good.
- Although, Yvonne's death did mean that we got to see Cybertears cried from Cybereyes, yay.
- But really, the final fifteen minutes of this two-parter stole the show. Maybe for other less-'shipper inclined minds, the Dalek vs. Cyberman showdown was the highlight of this season's finale (all I can say is the playground taunts amused me greatly and that's about the point where I lost interest in the whole enterprise). However, being hopelessly girly and squishy inside (well, I suppose everyone is literally squishy inside but I digress) I wanted to see whether the Doctor and Rose would finally make plain what we've all seen since day one (ah, he had her at hello-quick-get-out-of-the-way-of-those-murderous-mannequins.) Even though there have been Portents of Doom all season, it broke my little 'shipper heart into teeny tiny pieces. The Doctor might travel across galaxies and through eras, epochs and aeons but he seems destined to make the same mistake and it's the same mistake that he made with Sarah-Jane that is repeating itself with Rose.
- Catherine Tate as the Bride? Let us speak no more of it and postpone any scathing judgement until Christmas.

Anyway, I should just prise myself away from fantasy television universes and transport myself firmly back into boring no-time-travel reality. I spent a rather enjoyable day playing tour guide to Steph's cousin today and seeing as it was a gloriously sunny day, we decided that Greenwich would be the perfect antidote to the other grimy tourist attractions of London.

So, I decided that any trip to Greenwich should definately incorporate a visit to the meridian line and the Royal Observatory which is located in my favourite of the Royal Parks, Greenwich Park. Given that the sun was beating down upon our heads and we had just climbed up a rather steep hill to get to the meridian line and observatory, I was too busy thinking about how dehydrated I was to pay attention to the helpful information boards telling me what the meridian line actually was. (I know it's got something to do with longitudinal and latidutinal lines but beyond that, I'm hopelessly flailing about in geographical terminology.) Then I remembered that tucked away in a dark corner of Greenwich Park is a deer enclosure, so we went trampling through some squirrel-infested undergrowth in search of the deer.

(A little detour: After visiting Dublin Zoo a few years ago, I've been quite a fan of zoos ever since but it's been somewhat of a sore subject betwixt myself and Steph after we had an argument about the living conditions of the animals. Anyway, ever since then the subject of a trip to a zoo has never been broached but I'd forgotten about the existance of safari parks such as Longleat and Whipsnade. Anyway, I mentioned to Steph that we should visit a safari park this summer and that I don't mind having my car pulled apart by monkeys, so I have spent the evening researching both parks and have thus far not decided which one is more worthy of my patronage. Any suggestions would be heartily welcomed dear readers.)

After a quick wander around the pretty but dull Queen's House in the grounds of the National Maritime Museum, it was off to gawk at the Cutty Sark and debate about whether we could be bothered to go under the foot tunnel (verdict: no, it was too hot and really, all we wanted was an iced beverage and to sit in the air-conditioned darkness of the cinema, entertained by a grease-painted Johnny Depp.) So, Pirates of the Caribbean 2: Dead Man's Chest it was then. I was rather disappointed by the first installment and the second installment lived up to the first's reputation. When will Gore Verbinski learn that you can't just string together a bunch of entertaining scenes featuring Johnny Depp as Captain Jack Sparrow and not-so-entertaining-as-much-as-coma-inducing scenes with Orlando Bloom and Keira Knightly (why I am the only one who can see the resemblance between Knightly and a barracuda?) and label it 'summer blockbuster'? So Pirates II in summary: Johnny Depp and excellent CGI, yay, rest of the film (including the unresolved ending), boo.

In other news: American Apparel are perhaps taking political correctness a little too far.

I seem to be plagued with terminal indecision lately. It took me four days to write this entry (but I guess I can attribute that to laziness more than indecisiveness). I'm still trying to decide whether to leave my job or not and now I have the additional worry about whether to apply for this thing to train as a court reporter/stenographer or not. (I mainly can't decide whether it sounds interesting or terminally dull.) I have just spent the last half hour trying to decide whether I should do something with my day tomorrow and what I should do with my day if I do anything at all. The only thing that I gleaned from this was that I need more friends.

Last.fm have finally assigned me some neighbours and I have to say, it's somewhat of a let down. It's just a bunch of people who have exactly the same musical taste as me. (Which is exactly what it is so I don't know why I was so excited about it in the first place.) However, a perk of Last.fm is that everybody on the interweb can stalk me (musically speaking) and see that just now, I was listening to Blur's To The End. To this end, there's a stripy widget hanging about on the right-hand side somewhere which will enable you to carry out said aural stalkage. (N.B. If the list just shows up as Justin Timberlake - Sexyback, there is no need to readjust your sets. I really do listen to that track that much.)

Speaking of Mr. J.T.'s poptastic return, 2006 seems to be the year of the comeback. First, Take That bestow us with their craggy-yet-still-strangely-attractive presences, then Justin comes back looking like this:



But ignore the mysterious hanky and the fedora at a rakish angle! Instead, go listen to the Prince-a-licious new single Sexyback featuring (as all the best pop songs do) references to S&M sexual practices and the particularly excellent bit where some man in the background bellows "take 'em to the chorus!!" (Which is on a par with Rachel Stevens politely asking for the producer to "turn down the track a little please" in Negotiate With Love.) More reasons why Sexyback should be a summer 'choon':

- The triumphant return of the vocoder, saved from the ignonimity of last being used by Cher.
- Sexyback sounds a bit like Maneater's wife-beater wearing cousin.
- There's a very Britney-esque "yeah!" that intermittently appears in the background.
- Sexyback also sounds very much like JC Chasez's material (all of which was done better by JC) but hurrah for mucky boy pop being back in the charts!
- Like all great pop songs, the lyrics make absolutely no sense whatsoever ("I'm bringin' the sexy back / them other boys don't know how to act")
- All the promotional pictures vaguely makes Justin look like a criminal which is just the proverbial cherry on top of the proverbial icing on top of the proverbial cake.

And if that isn't enough, Beyonce is back with Crazy in Love part deux, this time entitled Deja Vu. Let's see:

- Big honking horn section? Tick.
- Cameo by Jay-Z? Tick.
- Beyonce wailing in her trademark it's-the-end-of-the-world manner? Tick.

But don't let this put you off, the intro should be enough to win you over (Beyonce intoning "Bass...hi-hat...808"). If you don't already love it for that bit then somewhere around the 3 minute mark, you have to have a heart of stone to not adore the handclap breakdown. Yes, a handclap breakdown. It has to be heard to be believed. Amazing.

Finally, Christina Aguilera, everybody's favourite mucky popstrel is back back back and seems to be releasing some kind of 1920s jazz concept-pop album. Which sounds so absurd it has to be fabulous. I have to admit, Ain't No Other Man didn't make much of an impression on me on first hearing. But then, late one night, I caught the video on TMF and it completely changed my mind:

Reasons to love Ain't No Other Man:

- The jazzy torch song at the beginning and end of the video.
- Christina prancing around in a gusset.
- Christina prancing around in rhinestone headphones.
- The perfectly synchronised dance routine (take note Girls Aloud)
- Christina's Tina-Turner-esque dance freak out at the end.

Other poptastic things to look forward to: Lily Allen's forthcoming album; the Jessica Simpson single (which I had previously condemned for being a terrible rip-off of Madonna's Holiday but have now embraced for the very same reasons); the as-yet-untitled Siobhan Donaghy album which features my new summer anthem, Sometimes; Pink releasing U + Ur Hand, a pop-punk ode to masturbation. Poptastic!

My week has been plagued with thoughts of this stupid re-sit essay. In a rather typical fashion, this hasn't sent me flying to the keyboard in an effort to pound out 4000 words post haste, rather it has inspired me to take procrastination to new heights. (Even by my own standards.)

Saturday marked a return to work for me. Le sigh. I had planned to make a start on my essay after getting home from a hard four hours of tidying up a few shelves and reading all the back copies of Sneak magazine. However, this plan was thwarted once I arrived home, flopped on my bed trashy historical novel in hand. (I seem to be going through a thing for historical fictionalised accounts of the Tudor monarchy at the moment. Ooh, Henry VIII was a cad and a bounder wasn't he? A bit like Prince Harry but with 10% more beheading!*) Once I finished The Constant Princess the procrastination didn't stop there. I've raced my way through four episodes of Lost (mmm castaway goodness. New favourite character ever: Mr. Eko. Anyone who inspires the lines, "You're not going to hit me with your Jesus stick are you??" deserves a place in my All Time Top Five.)

On Sunday, firmly in the spirit of catching up on my television-watching, I dug out my Doctor Who tape and spent a happy three hours watching The Impossible Planet/The Satan Pit (Whedonalert: shades of Firefly, especially in the score and the design of the ship) and the seemingly much maligned Love & Monsters (a.k.a. the one with Peter Kay in it. Whedonalert: shades of the Buffy episode, Storyteller). Other quick thoughts on Doctor Who thus far: the smugness of the Doctor and Rose are grating (even if it is just to set up a fall); enough with the Doctor ranting on joyfully about humans; less ex-Casualty cast members please; more Hustle cast members making cameos; yay for old-school claustrophobic sci-fi and yay for meta-commentary on fan culture.

Anyway, all this procrastination resulted in me deciding that rather than attempt to construct a new essay from scraps of the old one, I would just lop off the introduction and conclusion and hastily scrawl appropriate replacement passages to make the essay fit the question. My laziness has plumbed new depths when I don't even care about academic achievement anymore (although it's hard to care when you know you're going to be capped at 40%.) So, after waking up at the fair hour of 12pm today, I tacked on a ill-thought out, barely coherent conclusion (liberally peppered with lofty meaningless phrases such as "social constructions" and "feminine ideal") and went to hand it in. A whole 24 hours before the deadline. I think that's a record. Which, incredibly, means that I'm officially finished and in a matter of weeks I'll know my degree classification and will have to venture into the slightly mucky world of work. (Unless I meet a wealthy toupee-wearing gentleman and become a kept woman. Maybe I'm confusing my life with an episode of Dallas.)

Anyway, this is all another way to say that I haven't been doing much with my life (apart from melting into a sticky puddle whenever I'm not strategically placed in front of a fan or the air-conditioning vents in my car). Full thoughts on Doctor Who and the leather-clad extravaganza that was X-Men 3: The Last Stand. I also seem to have completely reneged on my vehement declaration that I wasn't going to see Pirates of the Carribbean: Dead Man's Chest as the trailer thoroughly charmed me. I fear that as much as with the first one, I will find myself disappointed. However, Orange Wednesdays are there to be abused with summer popcorn blockbusters featuring credible-actors-saving-up-for-loft-conversions. Off to bed (because that's where the fan is. Also rather annoyingly where the mosquitos are.) Bonne nuit!

* Thank you. My head will be displayed on a spike outside Tower Bridge all week. Try the veal!

In my junk mail folder just now:



You don't know how much I was hoping for that email to be from the Purple One.