Sunday, May 27, 2012

Mogwai Fear Satan

'Lo all.

My procrastination knows no bounds. I'm beginning to fall behind in an essay I'm trying to plough through. Damn these broad, open-ended topics. Just what IS the importance of remembering and forgetting in the digital age? Hurm.

Anyway. So it's been a while between drinks (well... not really, sadly). Unfortunately there isn't much to talk about, mostly work. I've so far handed in two out of the three things that need to be handed in by Monday (which is tomorrow...), and I've finished classes. Two more weeks and I've officially finished my third semester in this peepee soaked heckhole. Joy of joys.

So yeah, you would think I haven't been getting roaring drunk and having adventures, and instead focusing on getting my work in on time. So far I've managed to stay on track despite these distractions. I even left Thursday night Puggs early one time. That was a pretty big deal for me, but it paid off when I was hungover and cleaning up an essay the following afternoon, and managed to get it handed in fine. Oh yeah.

While I remember (I've written that word about three dozen times in the last four days, it's lost all meaning and doesn't sound right anymore).

The Virgin Suicides - ****
Finally got strapped down Clockwork Orange-style and was forced to watch this. A little too airy, and Kirsten Dunst playing a fourteen year old was jarring to the point of ridiculousness, but it was good fun how it drew you in by being all satire-y and ironic, then kicking you in the teeth. I mean, you were expecting it, based on the title, but still. Enjoyable, but then I enjoyed Lost in Translation (I'm a sucker for Bill Murray), and this is pretty similar. There was a voice in my ear the entire time about how the book was better though.

I guess I'm like that with Game of Thrones, season two of which is disappointing me. But oh well.

Went to the footy on Saturday for a nail-biter between Essendon and Richmond (it's nice being a member, you just stroll in halfway through), followed by a visit to Bridie O'reilly's on Chapel st. Terrible place on a Saturday night. We were dragged upstairs, as a band was playing, but the slightly-too-old-to-be-doing-this singer was belting out thoroughly awful covers of All American Rejects and Katy Perry, and that damn Call Me Maybe song that everyone seems to know except me. I did not realise it was possible to make already-bad songs sound worse.

Attempting to recover the view that pub covers of pop songs can be an acceptable medium when you're drunk, I went to Ryan Murphy's 'Olympics Fundraiser Party' at Puggs with a little Taco-Bill's-Fishbowl-induced optimism. He'd pulled out all the stops, with a full band upstairs instead of his usual loop pedal and kickdrum downstairs, and a woman's bathing suit and bathrobe to suit the theme. My eyes are still recovering. Unfortunately, I wasn't so drunk that I could ignore the mix, which seemed to be just keyboard, vocals, and cymbal. Poor Ryan Murphy. Still, a good time was had, and there was something approaching a moshpit by the end. Pretty crazy. I have to wonder what next week, his official going away thing, will be like.

Speaking of going away, since I have barely any readers I can announce this here. I'm not interested in sticking around in my apartment for a month, so I'm heading out to see the world. Paris, New York, Los Angeles. Ticking the boxes while I have a little money to do so. And seeing a few bands. Not Radiohead, nor the Cure, nor Tricky (that would involve Portugal, but tickets sold out...), but a few. Plus I think I need to see my aunt. Hurm.

Anyway, I'll try and post again before I fly away. Not that I'll have much to write about. The next few weeks involve heavy drinking and going back to Sale. God help us all. And I think there's a pair of exams in there somewhere.

Back to the essay, I suppose. It's a shame I can't cite this whole blogging enterprise in it, based on half the readings I've gone through. You would think that working in the library for four days would help me get it done faster, but oh well. Tomorrow will be fun. 800 words still looks far too bleak and far away right now, but by tomorrow afternoon they'll get hacked away at pretty quickly, I imagine. Damn this teenage laziness.

Crossposted.

peace.

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