WARNING: This post is offensive. If you are of a politically correct, strongly feminist or otherwise Tumblr-friendly sensibility, please use your browser’s ‘Back’ or ‘Close’ button now. If you’re not, take a free drink, sit down and enjoy the show. Now; let’s take a closer look at what makes me a bastard this week.
A long time ago in a job interview, I was asked what my three best and worst qualities were. “My three best qualities are initiative, intelligence, and thinking for myself,” I said.
“And your three worst ones?”
“Initiative, intelligence, and thinking for myself.”
The interviewer thought this was very deep. Personally, I thought it was bleeding obvious. In the light of that it’s not really so surprising, looking back, that the corporate world and I later parted ways. This week, however, I am annoyed about something else. I’m not going to waste time describing the situation, I’m just going to rant – and as I said in the first paragraph, you have been warned. So here are my five.
Oh gods, I said I’d write something deep and meaningful didn’t I?
Hmph. Well I’ve been ruminating over the finale of Doctor Who since I watched it, and… overall I was underwhelmed. I think it would have been kinder to the character, *and* to the story, to let John Sim’s Master be the final, glorious shout of the old tradition. This felt like flogging a dead horse, to me. Continue reading
There’s a saying that goes “This too shall pass”.
There’s another saying, a Buddhist one, that likens a person to a flame; always in motion, always consuming the wood on which it burns, composed at every moment of totally different atoms – and yet the same flame.
The picture to the left is from a comunity art project called Mitcham’s Models, which installed reworked mannequins around an unlovely junction in town to coincide with the city’s annual Open Studios event. Open Studios is a month in which Cambridge’s surprisingly many artists throw open their studio doors to the middle-class average Joe; the eerie figure in this picture was found on my way home from a gig at one of Cambridge’s few remaining live music pubs.
No really, I must. I’m British, it’s in the rules. Heck, even Burn Gorman is now making a living playing it uptight and repressed in crazed big-budget Japanophile monster movies. (Let us not forget that this is an actor whose introduction to me was that most sublime line of Owen Harper’s from the first episode of Torchwood: “Because I’m a twat”.) So, having lived up to a gay stereotype in my last post, I’ll live up to a British one here and apologise for the lack of signal recently.
I do have a reason, I assure you. Continue reading
Well good heavens. I’ve just received an email from WordPress saying my steampunk entry has been picked for Freshly Pressed, and now I’m embarrassed by the howling wasteland that’s been occupying this space for the last two months. I had such grand intentions for this blog when I started it! My platform for the deep, meaningful thoughts that eternally churn in my devastating mind!
So… what have I been doing all that time?
Well, there was the socktopus. Here he is: