the year in mix tapes: 2008

It wasn't a playlist a month this year, as things were up and down (January was spent despairing about the job situation and finally taking - and passing, woot! - my driving test), but these were basically the soundtrack to my '08.

February 2008 (for Dan's bday)
1. Okay - KaiserCartel
2. Together Or Alone - Sebadoh
3. Don't Let Him Waste Your Time - Jarvis Cocker
4. Because We're Dead - Slow Club
5. 5 Years Time - Noah & The Whale
6. The Man Who Sold The World - David Bowie
7. King Bubbles In The Sand - King Creosote
8. Oxford Comma - Vampire Weekend
9. Horse And I - Bat For Lashes
10. Police & Thieves - The Clash
11. Something In The Air - Thunderclap Newman
12. This Is A Low - Blur
13. Freewheel - Duke Special
14. Never Lonely Alone - Space Needle
15. Between The Bars - Elliott Smith
16. Lullaby - The Cure
17. Set Yourself On Fire - Stars
18. You! Me! Dancing! - Los Campesinos
19. Bonus Track (God Gave Rock and Roll To You, which we one time turned up REALLY loud after watching Bill & Ted)

Early Summer (May/June 2008)
1. Me And You - Slow Club
2. That's Not My Name - The Ting Tings
3. Ready For The Floor - Hot Chip
4. Paper Planes - MIA (not the shitty radio version they released this autumn)
5. Time To Pretend - MGMT
6. Maps - Yeah Yeah Yeahs
7. Turn Tail - The Young Knives
8. Ashes To Ashes - David Bowie
9. Here On My Own - U.N.P.O.C.
10. In the Hot. Hot Rays - Fleet Foxes
11. The Boy With The Arab Strap - Belle & Sebastian
12. Late For The Devil - Kid Harpoon
13. Girls And Boys In Love - The Rumble Strips
14. The Kids Don't Stand A Chance - Vampire Weekend
15. A Day In The Life - The Beatles

Late Summer (July/August 2008)
1. Broken Bones - Sons and Daughters
2. Hypnotise - The White Stripes
3. Nonstop - Whitey
4. America's Boy - Broadcast
5. Ocean - Sebadoh
6. Tomorrow Tomorrow - Elliott Smith
7. Mykonos - Fleet Foxes
8. It's All Over - The Broken Family Band
9. I Know - The Beta Band
10. Ease Your Feet In The Sea - Belle & Sebastian
11. Going Down - Florence & Kid Harpoon
12. Wild Wood - Paul Weller
13. Flowers And Football Tops (acoustic) - Glasvegas
14. She Doesn't Belong - Pete & The Pirates
15. Summer's The Worst - Michael Leviton
16. Little Yellow Spider - Devendra Banhart
17. Wild World - Cat Stevens

September 2009 (about which I've previously posted)
1. Suedehead - Morrissey
2. I'm Good, I'm Gone - Lykke Li
3. Not Fade Away - The Rolling Stones
4. Victoria - The Kinks
5. Senses Working Overtime - XTC
6. Pink Moon - Nick Drake
7. Cold Blooded Old Times - Smog
8. A Town Without Pity - Gene Pitney
9. Darling - Sons and Daughters
10. A Million Reasons - Stellastar
11. Lion Rip - The Duke Spirit
12. Slow Hands - Interpol
13. Cannonball - The Breeders
14. Today - Smashing Pumpkins
15. Heart Shaped Box - Nirvana
16. Doll Parts - Hole
17. The Other Side Of Mt. Heart Attack - Liars

October 2008
This playlist I could never quite get to work. It has some really great songs on it, but, in my mind at least, they never *quite* meshed well enough to make a successful playlist. I'll post it here anyway. I'll probably end up reusing the tracks on another one at some point. Or just rehashing this till it's right. I know it'll bug me otherwise.
1. Don't You Worry 'Bout A Thing - Stevie Wonder
2. Want-ads - The Honeycombs
3. Close To Me - The Cure
4. Wrapped Up In Books - Belle & Sebastian
5. Autumn Almanac - The Kinks
6. Bend It - Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich
7. Never Miss A Beat - Kaiser Chiefs
8. We Got The Beat - The Go-Gos
9. Knickerbocker - Fujiya & Miyagi
10. Woo Hoo - 5.6.7.8's
11. Pin - Yeah Yeah Yeahs
12. Lights Out - Santogold
13. But It's Alright - Eddie Floyd
14. Johnny Too Bad - The Slickers
15. Mr Big Stuff - Jean Knight
16. Try A Little Tenderness - Otis Redding

November 2008
1. L.E.S. Artistes - Santogold
2. Violet - Hole
3. The Beginning Of The Twist - The Futureheads
4. I Saw Her Standing There - The Beatles
5. Hold Tight - Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich
6. In The Morning - The Coral
7. About A Girl - Nirvana
8. Trash - Suede
9. Everywhere - Fleetwood Mac
10. I've Got My Mind Set On You - George Harrison
11. Death Of A Tune - The Hidden Cameras
12. Young Love - Mystery Jets ft. Laura Marling
13. Ragged Wood - Fleet Foxes
14. I Wanna Be Adored - Stone Roses
15. Goodnight Moon - Shivaree
16. Tire Swing - Kimya Dawson
17. When I Go - Slow Club
18. Drinker's Peace - Guided By Voices
19. It's My Own Cheating Heart That Makes Me Cry - Glasvegas
20. Love Your Man, Love Your Woman - The Broken Family Band

December 2008
1. I Need A Life - Born Ruffians
2. Becky - Be Your Own Pet
3. Don't Falter - Mint Royale ft. Lauren Laverne
4. Brainless - Sunny Day Sets Fire
5. Why Do You Let Me Stay Here? - She & Him
6. Midnight Surprise - Lightspeed Champion
7. Since I Don't Have You - The Skyliners
8. Dance Dance Dance - Lykke Li
9. Oh! - The Breeders
10. Ocean Of Noise - The Arcade Fire
11. White Winter Hymnal - Fleet Foxes
12. Flume - Bon Iver
13. Bears - Pete & The Pirates
14. Boys Of Melody - The Hidden Cameras
15. In The Morning - Ben Lee
16. Christmas TV - Slow Club

Hope 2008 has been good to you all; here's to 2009. Onwards and upwards, as they say.

An intellectual carrot. The mind boggles.

Had total festive season wipeout today; crashed in front of the telly and watched horror movies all evening. First The Last House On The Left, then Planet Terror, then finally The Thing. We had to watch the original for a film studies class back at uni - it was relatively entertaining and contains possibly one of my favourite lines from a film ever (see blog post title), but Carpenter's version was brilliant - definitely my favourite of the three watched. Plus, Kurt Russell is The Awesome.

gingerbread house

Another grand festive tradition: the assembling and decorating of gingerbread houses with my oldest friend, Laura. Much sugar-hyped fun.

For the record, though I put the cow there, my friend was the one who said "He needs some innards" and put the red licorice there...

The Thank Credit Crunch Chrismukkah meal 2008

Up to a certain point (usually around December 23rd) I love the festive season. I love the build up and the lights and decorations and music and buying crap for people and the emphasis on friends and family. But by the time Christmas Day actually rolls around, I'm so over it. So we had our becoming-traditional Chrismukkah lunch today: 12 adults, one toddler, the first people arriving at 2pm, the last people leaving at 10pm; lots of food, my sister and I cooking, trying to schedule everything in, suddenly remembering we hadn't put the potatoes on to boil though the turkey was basically cooked, completely forgetting about the stuffing. No major spillages, less booze consumed than I'd thought we might, everyone wearing the paper hats from crackers, and Tayo loving all the attention he was getting. Much talk of the previous night's X Factor (pah), excellent desserts brought by people (we asked people to bring contributions), fun with the squirty whipped cream, Christmas jumpers, eating so much you feel sick, and people passing out on the sofa... sounds like Christmas to me.

dance till the morning light

Slow Club have been the soundtrack to my 2008; I love love love them and their live shows are just so endearing. Tonight we saw them at Union Chapel in Islington (what an amazing venue), along with a bunch of special guests. We sat in the pews drinking cups of tea and listened to Jay Jay Pistolet and Adem (who did a great version of Silent Night), then Slow Club came out and did their thing. They'd distributed lyric sheets for a good old singalong - unfortunately, the ink was red and the lighting in the chapel was verrrry low, so it was pretty much unreadable. No one really minded; everyone kind of hummed and clapped along anyway. A great last gig of the year.

glow in the dark

02 Arena. Kanye West's Glow In The Dark Tour 2008. Second gig of the week. Free tickets courtesy UMusic: great seats, eight rows from the front. Result.

He played all the hits and some off the forthcoming album, and right near the end brought Estelle out to do American Boy, which of course everyone loved. The show was something of a spectacle, with a crazy set and 'lost in space' kind of story - Kanye and his spaceship, "Jane", have crashed and he has to find some way to get his rocket working and off the lost planet back home somehow. Of course, it turns out the key to getting the rocket working again is Kanye himself - he's the biggest superstar there is (of course).

change is gonna come

Change Is Gonna Come - Sam Cooke

In one of our usual walking around, putting the world to rights kind of mornings in Paris, Dan and I were discussing our own personal 2008s. Where 2007 had been like treading water for me – and him, apparently – 2008 was the year of change, for both of us. It’s the first year I’ve felt happy. Settled. Like I have a real goal and know where I’m going. Like I’ve finally found my footing again since NY. And I started writing again, which is more of a big deal than I thought, and makes me happier than I realised. For him, much of the same: taking a three-month NY sabbatical in Paris, trying to refocus on his artwork, trying to calm down the crazy schedule he maintained earlier in the year.

And now it would seem that our personal 2008 theme has just gone worldwide. Election results are in; Obama’s the man.

All yesterday I was really weirdly nervous and emotional about the whole thing, closely following all my American friends’ Twitter and Facebook statuses about voting, donating my own Fb status to remind everyone to vote Obama. 98% of my Twitter buddies are Americans (is it not such a big thing over here?) and I guess maybe 40 – 50% of my Fb friends are, from the Fotolog days to my time living in NY – all of them Democrats – so there was a constant stream of updates. I remember well the 2004 election, how *sure* the fotolog peeps were that John Kerry was going to get in, the feeling of hope… and then the crushing disappointment when it all went to hell.

So this year I tried not to get so emotionally involved. I mean after all, it’s not even my country – though who rules America has such a big impact on the rest of the world, it would be stupid not to care who gets in. The disbelief at the Palin nomination, the flickers of hope that seemed to be growing among my friends, the idea of a black President, wondering if America was really ready for this…

I woke up this morning feeling like hell – the cold-flu monster that has been threatening all last week finally kicked into hyperdrive yesterday and is really kicking my ass – but staggered to the computer and checked BBC News, then Facebook, then Twitter, getting quite choked up as I scrolled back a few pages and belatedly followed last night's election progress via my friends:

ultragrrrl People are coming into the streets celebrating.
sweetavenue EVERY person they r showing on tv during obama's speech is in tears
gurj "brothaz should pull up their pants" oh obama... ::SWOON::
carafornia I'm glad the republicans get to know how we felt for 8 years. fuck yessssssss
carafornia yesyesyesyesyes. at boneshakers happy happy. words can't express how amazing tonight is.
gurj you have an arousing and cool new president. I'll toast to that. (mccain election epic fail wah waaah)
jeanieforever OH YES WE DID!
Brunocerous high-fiving VT!
Brunocerous hugging N.H
Brunocerous WTF, S.C.?
Brunocerous did florida really just turn blue?!
carafornia crybaby at the polls. so many people there made me tear up like a babeh. most exciting election in america's history!
Brunocerous Voted with all the hope in my heart.

Congratulations America. Here’s to Change, and the next four years.

hollaween

This year's pumpkin, which I carved yesterday afternoon (still unemployed, too much free time on my hands...). Based on:

My sister is epileptic and this usually doesn’t impede on her/our life much – she’s photosensitive, petit mal, so things like TV static, rapidly flashing or jump-cut images and strobe lights aren’t great (her friends are pretty good about clamping a hand over her eyes if they’re out at a club with strobes, and watching Dark Knight this summer was pretty interesting, some bad lighting effects in that). Halloween is the only time of year it really sucks. We’re trying to plan a good Scary Movie Night, and so many films are being shot down because of some faulty wiring in her brain – Poltergeist? No can do. Blair Witch or Cloverfield? Shaky-cam would knock her out. The Ring? Hello to the tv static. Goddamn epilepsy. I mean really, it’s awfully selfish of her to ruin movie night...

[For the record, any non-seizure-inducing films I mentioned all got shot down too, and people started talking about Disney horror… which is, in itself, frankly horrifying].

current status: grrrr

Q: What's more depressing and dispiriting that being unemployed and job-hunting?

A: Being unemployed and job-hunting in a credit crisis/recession.

Am SO OVER this financial meltdown crap already.

i love paris in the fall

Currently à Paris, visiting Dan. Beautiful weather, amazing food, lots of walking and rambling and people watching. Paris, je t'aime.

So long September

My favourite method of procrastination is to make mix tapes (well, CDs). As September was mostly about writing (see previous post), this meant it was also mostly about procrastination. And so without further ado I present to you my September '08 playlist:

1. Suedehead - Morrissey
2. I'm Good, I'm Gone - Lykke Li
3. Not Fade Away - The Rolling Stones
4. Victoria - The Kinks
5. Senses Working Overtime - XTC
6. Pink Moon - Nick Drake
7. Cold Blooded Old Times - Smog
8. A Town Without Pity - Gene Pitney
9. Darling - Sons & Daughters
10. A Million Reasons - Stellastar
    
11. Lion Rip - The Duke Spirit
12. Slow Hands - Interpol
13. Cannonball - The Breeders
14. Today - Smashing Pumpkins
15. Heart Shaped Box - Nirvana
16. Doll Parts - Hole
17. The Other Side of Mt. Heart Attack - Liars
18. Handlebars - Flobots
    

Play the whole thing streamed here (minus the Duke Spirit track as bloody favtape.com couldn't seem to locate it).

Here's to a prosperous October...

the day before the deadline

• Hours of sleep had: Less than four
• Number of drafts written
10 pages: About five
One-pager: Still not enough
• Deadlines met: One
• People in the line ahead of me at the Post Office: what seemed like 100
• Minutes spent deciding between the veggie brunch or the pancakes at brunch: Also about five
• Tantrums the godson had during the couple hours I spent with him: At least three. Including throwing a bowl of chips on the floor at Giraffe.
• How we got him back in the buggy without another tantrum: bribed him with Maltesers.
• Plan for the next day or two: bloody sleep.

Bonne chance à tous. I hold no hope but at least a deadline gets me writing.

badlands #2

You're So Cool - Hans Zimmer

In the badlands of south west London, a sunny Saturday afternoon spent lying in the sun in Richmond Park. Deadlines be damned.

cogito ergo procrastinato*

Lazy Sundays are an art form, best typified by that amazing SNL skit of a few years ago (which has become so embedded in the pop culture subsection of my mind that I actually can’t say Chronicles of Narnia without (a) saying Chronic-what?-cles, and (b) start laughing). (Man, I miss SNL).

Today was a very, very lazy Sunday; the sole aim of the day was procrastination (sorry, 30th September is how far away? A whole nine days you say? That’s fiiiiiine…)

I got up late.

I had coffee and watched The Warriors (I dressed up as a Warrior for Halloween ’05, when I was living in NY. Had never actually seen the film, but there was a massive billboard a couple blocks away from my offices for the videogame of it, and the image had lodged itself in my mind, clearly, as I couldn’t think of a single other thing to dress up as. At the big Halloween ball we went to in Williamsburg some very drunk guy cornered me at the bar, grabbed me by the shoulders and slurred “No one will ever understand how amazing your outfit is.” Which I took to mean he approved of it.)

I went back upstairs to get dressed… but got back into bed instead.

Got up again about half an hour later, feeling guilty that I was wasting the day so badly.

Back downstairs, completely ignored Ratatouille that someone had put on, internetted for a good long while. Joined twitter.com after months of hovering around all, all in the name of procrastination (it’s great, join! we can all follow each other procrastinating! It’s like the most fun part of Facebook – the status update bar - without all the other Facebook crap).

Put Shaun of the Dead on (see below).

Paused Shaun of the Dead to walk round to open-all-hours pharmacy. Pharmacist not in, came home, resumed Shaun of the Dead.

Paused Shaun of the Dead again an hour later, walked to corner shop, bought poppadoms, went back to pharmacy, pharmacist in, picked up prescription. Came back, watched last part of movie.

Had dinner.

Internetted, made playlists, generally mooched around.

Watched repeats of No Heroics (has potential) and Samantha Who? (quite funny, could do without the weird writing bits).

Made a cup of tea.

Read Neverwhere.

Decided it was too late to try and salvage the day by doing something productive, so went to bed.

An art form. As you see.

*Yes, there's a large chance this actually isn't Latin.

Master Blaster

So my sister got last minute tickets (as in, 5:30pm-when-he-went-on-at-8pm last minute) free tickets to Stevie Wonder at the O2 last night, courtesy of her workplace. Cue much stress as I tried to figure out if it'd be feasible for me to go - of course, it's Stevie fucking Wonder, you drop everything and make it happen - then major rush over to Greenwich, but everyone got there in plenty of time.

And oh my, he was amaaaaaazing. Total legend.

badlands

Saw Badlands at the BFI tonight. My gosh, what a film. Like visual poetry. Masterful.

Note to self:

Films to re-watch as soon as I have time:

• Repo Man. "...Ordinary fucking people, I hate 'em."
• Total Recall - which I haven't seen since I was about 12 and made some friends watch it at a sleepover. Perhaps that was the beginning of my oddball reputation... when all they wanted to do was watch The Outsiders and cry over Johnny, and I make them watch a total mindfuck of a film.
• Memento. Know I've seen it, but don't remember.
• The Matrix
• Shaun of the Dead. One of the rainy Sundays in August (and it felt like there were many), when the grey skies drained all productivity out of me, I sat and watched all of the second series of Spaced (having watched the first the day before), followed by Hot Fuzz. For some reason I never got round to SotD that day, so it feels like a piece is missing.
• A History of Violence
• Withnail & I
• Kill Bill (both volumes)
• Pulp Fiction. Haven't seen since the year it came out and I was a wee teenager. As much as I liked it then, I'm sure I'd appreciate it much more now.
  
• Brick. One of my favourite scripts I've ever read.
  
• Brazil, which is playing the BFI at the end of September so must try and twist someone's arm into going with me.

carnival

It's very useful having friends who live on Portobello: having a place to collapse, a free BBQ, a table full of drinks, nice toilets, a good view of the Carnival crowds (and the subsquent riots, which I missed, being back at home, but my sister who was staying there had prime position to witness the riot police in action)... Haven't been since I was a teenager (can never quite be bothered), but it was so worth it just for the food: saltfish patties, fried plantains, dumplings... drooooool...

I am the god of Hellfire...

I'd been reading up about Sir Francis Dashwood and the Hellfire Club recently - for research or pleasure, take your pick - and decided since another roadtrip out of London was well overdue, I'd head out to West Wycombe and go visit the Hellfire Caves.

I coerced my sister and we drove out, marvelling at the cheaper petrol prices in the countryside, and the quaint village of West Wycombe, complete with crazy old crooked buildings and old-fashioned sweet shop.

The caves themselves were good creepy fun (one family that came in a minute behind us only got about 20 feet before the youngest child - probably around 5 or so - started wailing and had to be taken back out) - lots of dripping water and echoey, dimly lit paths and creepy ass waxworks. Awesome.

When we emerged back into the sunlight, we aimed for the Dashwood Mausoleum. While I'm sure there's a more sensible route, we couldn't seem to find one, so started walking up the steep hill that soon became almost vertical. As we scrabbled up the slope - no useful grass or shrubs to grab on to that high up, just dirt and scree and a few odd roots that you hang on to for dear life - a small boy came bounding past us and asked if we wanted a hand. I've never felt more like an old lady; almost gave that cheeky young whippersnapper a clip round the ear...

The mausoleum was actually quite impressive up close and the church behind it very charming and full of Dashwood family history, but after scrabbling back down the same slope we'd had to climb up, only a visit to the aforementioned sweet shop and then one of the village pubs could soothe us enough to be able to drive home...

bad influence...

Hanging out with M. and Tayo - coffee, wandering, heading up to Chiswick House (as above), where we introduced T. to the pleasures of the climbing tree (though he is perhaps still a little young to fully appreciate it).

Later we went for lunch, where the tot loudly banged on the table, demanding "more!" Maria tried to get him to more politely say "more please". I took the initiative, and made him say "Please sir, may I have some more?", à la Oliver Twist, before he could have more food. I am an evil godmother. Mwahahahaha.

Exterminate!

I had a meeting this afternoon at BBC Television Centre in White City; we sat in the coffee shop downstairs for a chat, and these were poised about ten feet behind us. Amazing.

Best part of the most recent series finale, about which I still haven't really made up my mind: German daleks.

Tetsuuuoooooo!

Went to see Akira at the BFI this evening. Faaabulous.

Learning To Love You More

If you’re based Oop North, around Middlesbrough, today is a good day to go see some art… The lovely Nicky P is curating a Learning To Love You More exhib, of which yours truly is a part. I wish I could get up there to see it, but it’s just a tiny bit too far away for a daytrip.

currently rocking my world

1. Dr Horrible's Sing-Along Blog
Have I mentioned before how much I love Joss Whedon? I have? Frequently? Oh. Well, here's just another example of why. Musical webisodes about a supervillian (Dr Horrible), his arch nemesis (Captain Hammer), and the girl of his dreams...

'Joss Whedon set out on the low-budget project during the writers' strike as a lark and a labor of love — and to show the industry an out-of-the-box project could find an audience. But the overwhelming response has caught him by surprise.

"We had this home-baked idea that we love and we're proud of," Whedon says. "We made this on the understanding that we'd never make a dime. But it's blown up beyond our expectations." '

The first Act made me giggle with absolute glee. Who else - seriously, who on earth else? - could have come up with something like this, and made such a site-crashing success? Because that's what happened - the blog was so popular the servers crashed. If that's not a show of love, I don't know what is. Joss Whedon, I salute you. And can't wait for Dollhouse.

Here's the trailer - then go watch the full episodes.

2. Y The Last Man
So on my lunchbreak today I made a trip to the comic store to pick up the most recent Buffy series 8 issues (see above for the Whedon love), and discovered the last collected volume of YTLM, Book 10 - Whys & Wherefores (which is only available for pre-order on Amazon, so was perhaps an American import?). I was reading it on the tube home this evening, after a couple of cocktails in Soho, and about halfway through really wished I wasn't reading it in public. So. Gutting. Augh.

As with all good things, I was worried about how it was going to end, and wasn't sure about the epilogue, until the last couple of pages, which just made me laugh with relief. Brian K Vaughan and Pia Guerra, I salute you too.

3. Everything else:

a dream upon waking...

I awoke this morning promptly at 7am (which was strange enough in itself, as these past few days I've been setting up to six [!] alarms to ensure I get up in time - and have still managed most days to turn them all off and fall back asleep), convinced I had the winning idea for the Red Planet Prize. There was mystery and intrigue and great characters... I dragged myself out of bed, and while washing my face and brushing my teeth I tried to form some logic from the tangled web of the idea.

Teeth clean, I stumbled back to my room and sat down on the bed. There were some pretty gaping holes in what I'd worked out, and, worse, the idea was slowly, slowly drifting and slipping away from me... those characters who I knew so well before I woke were becoming misty and half-formed, the plot premise was murky and indistinct...

And I came to the realisation that it had all been but a dream, never anything more coherent than subconscious rumblings. Defeated, I crawled back into bed - after all, if I wasn't going to do any writing that second, I could steal an extra ten minutes before I really had to get up. But as I re-set my alarm, I could at least feel that even though my conscious brain has hit a brick wall when it comes to this project, my subconscious is constantly mulling it over...

And with that I dozed back off, and ten minutes later slept through my alarm...

Red Planet Prize blog

heathens

For some reason people seem to trust me with their kids, and so it is I have two pretty fabulous (aside from the tantrums and screaming and crying and throwing up) godchildren, courtesy of best friend from high school and best friend from university. I say godchildren, but perhaps they're more fairy godchildren, as neither have been actually baptised in the church; both friends wanted people to fill godparent-type roles for their kids though neither wanted an actual baptism (not so much with the churchgoing), so for lack of a better non-religious word, godmother it has become. Or "non-godmother", as I was asked to be for Margot.

Today was the kind of non-christening, hey this is our baby kind of party: a big picnic in Wimbledon Park - picnic rugs and sausage rolls and fairy cakes and homemade party hats and cricket and rounders and bottles of Strongbow (just to add that touch of class). My non-godmother request came with a clause to educate Junior about Joss Whedon when she's old enough to understand; I already expanded this brief to include some rock'n'roll basics, so pushed the boundaries a little further to include Doctor Who, a series her mum and I have both been loving recently. And so it was I spent Saturday afternoon making Dalek shaped cookies and decorating them with silver balls, in the name of godmotherly duty...

Summer solstice

Is anyone else slightly horrified we’re already half way through 2008?? So much to do, so little time…

Status update of the year so far? Interesting. Much better than last year. Whereas ‘07 felt like treading water, ‘08 feels a lot more about taking steps forward – even if they are tiny baby steps, and even if it’s sometimes two steps forward, one step back. It’s still progress. And I feel for the first time settled and happy in London. That NY trip kind of got it out of my system. So this second half of the year, it’s all guns blazing, reaching for the sky, getting at least somewhere near what I want. Wish me luck…

Over-identify-much?

I am loving Donna Noble. I wasn’t really the biggest fan of her Christmas Special (2006), aside from the fact that part of it was set in Chiswick, so when they announced her as the new companion I was a little worried. But the character totally hit the ground running and just gets better and better. Catherine Tate is awesome.

And this has nothing at all to do with the fact that being a temp, from Chiswick, who’s living with family because of the lack of permanent job, I slightly over-identify with her, and totally get how much she wanted to find the Dr to get away from it all. Nothing at all…

Here Is New York

"There are roughly three New Yorks. There is, first, the New York of the man or woman who was born there, who takes the city for granted and accepts its size, its turbulence as natural and inevitable. Second, there is the New York of the commuter--the city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night. Third, there is New York of the person who was born somewhere else and came to New York in quest of something. Of these trembling cities the greatest is the last--the city of final destination, the city that is a goal. It is this third city that accounts for New York’s high strung disposition, its poetical deportment, its dedication to the arts, and its incomparable achievements. Commuters give the city its tidal restlessness, natives give it solidity and continuity, but the settlers give it passion. And whether it is a farmer arriving from a small town in Mississippi to escape the indignity of being observed by her neighbors, or a boy arriving from the Corn Belt with a manuscript in his suitcase and a pain in his heart, it makes no difference: each embraces New York with the intense excitement of first love, each absorbs New York with the fresh yes of an adventurer, each generates heat and light to dwarf the Consolidated Edison Company..."
E.B. White - "Here Is New York" (1948)

I was sitting on the subway, the G train, heading down to Carroll Gardens to go to Rocketship then hang out with Dan, staring into space when my eyes focused in on the ad panel opposite me. It was a passage from an E.B. White essay, the one I've copied above. I read it a couple of times, taking it in, then had to look away because it felt like someone had caught my heart. That's it, I thought. That's exactly what the city means to me, one of that Third category. That's how it is.

Or was. This time in NY has been strange. It's a trip I'd been postponing for a while, something was holding me back from booking tickets, but then I had no work lined up and everyone I wanted to see would be there before heading off on tour or to weddings or vacations. And it was great to be back and to see everyone, and go for brunch at Florent, and get ice cream at 1am on Houston, and sit in Union Square eating apples and watching the streetfighters do their thing, and go to Coney for the day, and sit in Sugar Sweet Sunshine drinking iced coffee... But I missed that buzz. That excitement that used to keep me going. That incredible awe of "Oh my god, I'm living in New York."

Maybe it was the heatwave. That awful 40 degree heat where you didn't want to move, the heat lightning flickering all night, the a/c units and huge fans barely making a dent on the still, hot air. It saps your energy - half the things and people I'd wanted to do and see I didn't get round to, it was just too hot to do much.

But I've come back feeling strangely glad to be home - which is a first - and with a renewed sense of wanting to make a go of it now, here. I'll still miss my friends, but there's email and AIM/iChat and UK tours and London Fashion week and other things that'll bring them over. I'll miss the chutzpah of the city and the food (would someone please open a Taco Bell over here?), and the great tradition of brunch which still hasn't caught on as much as I'd like over here. But I'm looking at London with new eyes, and I suddenly see that most of what I loved about New York is available here. It's just a case of making an effort and looking.

If you make me a part of your child’s life, I will imprint myself upon them…

I tried reading Watchmen to my godson Tayo when he was 5 months old but he just wasn’t that in to it. The Marvel Heroes X Men pop up book went down a bit better when he’d just turned one, and now he’s approaching two (where has the time gone?!) I bombard him with comic book t-shirts. We went shopping and came back with two Spiderman and one Batman t-shirts. And that’s not even touching upon the NJ Nets and Run DMC things I got him as a baby…


And then there’s goddaughter Margot, who got her first Ramones t-shirt three months before she was even born, and who I had much fun stocking up for in New York – this Clash onesie from Trash & Vaudeville being a prime example. So punk rock.

Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull...

...or whatever it's called, is a pile of shite.

However, three hours of solid air conditioning courtesy of the movie theatre was worth the $12 ticket price alone. Goddamn this 40 degree New York heatwave.

The frozen margs we then got at El Cantinero were pretty fucking great too.

a brief moment of self-promotion

Okay, so it took me long enough, but I finally got around to putting the two short pieces I did for Flux back in December up online, ahead of hopefully seeing Hope Larson at MoCCA this weekend.

Without further ado:

Hope Larson
Foals

sunday night musings after only three hours sleep

So I've been making plans to go back to NY, as work is sporadic and I have a bonus £500 (rare). But every time I get close to booking tickets, I get cold feet and can't quite go through with it - and am not sure why. So I re-watched the dumb little movie I made before I left, and was re-reading the blog archives circa 2005, when I first moved to the Apple, to remind myself of the amazing times and making myself feel very nostalgic. Everything felt like an adventure then. I came across this sentence that made me laugh out loud as it just seemed to sum up 2005 NY for me:

"Sure, I could stay in, make sure I know my shit, get a good night’s sleep and be truly prepared, but we’re young and in New York. I need my Friday night fill of hot boys, cute girls, cheap(ish) drinks, good music and general Lower East Side activity. Who wouldn’t?"

Long sigh. The nostalgia and odd kind of homesickness for that feeling of being young and free and having the (social) world at our feet clashed oddly with one of my recent posts about getting old, and I tried to reconcile the two ideas. Reading those archives I couldn't fathom how I used to do it - running on about 3 or 4 hours sleep a night, working a 9am-6pm job five days a week, class one evening a week, going out and staying out till the wee hours at least three times a week... how is that humanly possible?

Last night I headed out to Feeling Gloomy for some drinks and dancing, with my old roommate from New Jersey and a friend from my intake out there. Good times, almost like old times... This isn't so bad, I thought.

And then I got home, soaked after being caught in the rain at 3:30am and having to run from Centre Point down to Trafalgar Square to get my night bus when the other bus prematurely terminated, sober as I stopped drinking pretty early, tired from dancing, a little cold from the walk down St John's Road - and found an email asking me to be godparent to young Margot (with a clause attached to fill her in about Joss Whedon at some point in her life...) And suddenly realised that while being young, free, drunk and with no responsibilities has something going for it, everyone has to change, everyone grows up, and it's little things like this that makes things worthwhile.

possibly the geekiest thing i've ever done

I just changed the settings on my phone so that the text alert sound is that of the Tardis.

Every time I get a text, it sounds like the Tardis is landing somewhere nearby.

*Awesome*

viva la cobra indeed

Sunday night. London Astoria 2. Cobra Starship & All Time Low. Lots of teenagers in hoodies (y'know, like emo/punk style hoodies, not hoodie-hoodies). Running late as ever, we miss the first band, though that was partially intentional, get there in time to grab a drink and find a place to stand (up on the balcony thank you very much; no floor standing for me. Have I not already outlined that I'm old now and can't handle mixing it up with the raring-to-go youth?)

The band come on and play a good set, though I'm not familiar with stuff from their new album (does that make me a bad friend?) apart from the horrendously catchy Guilty Pleasures (with its hilarious videos). Make attempts to get hold of people, then run into Victoria in the glassed-off section of the bar who gets Alex. He walks us backstage; my sister is weirdly psyched about this, despite the amounts of times I've mentioned how unglam it actually is. I think she is still surprised by *this* however: a small poky dark green room that can barely hold five people comfortably - that the two co-headliners are sharing. There's rum and beer and pitta bread and Sainsburys Economy Jam and flying saucers, and at one point after the gig has ended and both bands plus assorted friends are in and around the dressing room, a big Disney singalong starts off, a medley of Aladdin hits. It's the most unglamourous, un-rock'n'roll thing, like, ever. Though very funny.

After wandering round Soho looking for food and Alex being accosted by various fans who are still hanging outside the venue and the bus taking ages to pack and leaving way beyond bus call, the bus finally moves off and heads a very circuitous and long route back to Shepherds Bush. We're on the upper deck, sat round a table watching series 1 of 24, along with three of All Time Low (seem nice, very young, quite drunk) and three groupies girls (I never know how to feel about these girls. I'm sure they know what they're doing, but they always seem so young. And I always just wander, "Why??" I'm not sure I get the groupie mindset) along for the ride...

We go grab a corner booth while the bands and crew check in. The hotel bar is painfully expensive; a couple of people have already ordered drinks but then Gabe turns up with wine and vodka taken from the bus, which is sneakily drunk in the corner. Some of the De La Soul tour are propping up the bar, which everyone tries not to look at too obviously, but - De La Soul! Holy shit.

Eventually it's like 2am; my sister has to be up at 6 for a call time of 8am in East London, so after arranging to pick Alex up the following afternoon as he's invited himself round for "tea" (what else, in England?), we head on out, grab a bagel to share at the 24 hr place on Bush Green then jump on a bus down to Hammersmith to get the night bus back on out to our neck of West London. When I finally crash, I'm beyond relieved (for a change) that I have no work the next morning, and do not envy my sister in the slightest...

how you know you're getting old

1. When you prefer a "nice sit down" and a mug of tea to hanging out at music festivals

The Cobra boys are in town; after some brief hang time on Friday night at Victoria's flat in Kensington (which, by the way, is drool-worthy), their first gig is the next day at Give It A Name. Alex puts me on the list with a +1.

We head down there in time for their set at 4ish, walk the wrong way round Earls Court Centre, double back on ourselves, eventually get in. It's very dark inside. Fi wants to get to the front, I prefer to steer clear of teenage moshers, so we settle for somewhere in the middle. It's fun that most of the kids around us know the words to the songs and are dancing and stuff, but like I say, I'm not into the big crowds so duck back a ways. Their set finishes, we escape the crowds, I try to text one of the US cell phones but I'm not even sure they have them on. Fi veers towards Pizza Express in the outer hall but the lines are massive. Both of us would quite like a sit down.

We decide then to leave - we've seen the band we want to see, the only others that interest me aren't on till much later that night. We get off at Turnham Green to stop for ice cream at Fouberts, get some groceries, walk back to the car that we've left in W4, then drive home. Collapse on the sofa with a cuppa to watch Dr Who (The Doctor's Daughter. I had some issues with it, but still. Sob.) and barely move for the rest of the evening. Rock n roll.

2. When drunken BBQs turn into family-friendly affairs

The next day is amazingly hot and sunny. We'd been trying to organise a BBQ for today but as of Saturday night it's only going to be me, my sister, and her friend Katy, which means less BBQing and more lying in the sun with a glass of something cold and alcoholic. As the sun heats up, it seems everyone that couldn't make it before, or wasn't sure if they could, suddenly want in on the grilled meat action. We somehow have eight people turning up and no food, so an emergency trip to Tescos is called for. Food, drink, ice cream. Someone else is bringing the Pimms. There's lots of beer in the fridge. Party time.


We get home and sort food out and then decide to make the garden more toddler-friendly, as the godson is coming over. He brings over his paddling pool, for the amusement of all. The Binnie-Marston clan also turn up, so we now have two under-2s among us. There are more soft drinks around than beer, and the Pimms doesn't even get opened. Everyone lounges in the sun, the music plays (at a neighbourhood-friendly - I hope - volume), people read the Sunday papers, Sam makes me bring down our uni yearbook (laughs all round). All in all it's a thoroughly civilised affair; a far cry from the house party style BBQ of our youth that we had perhaps envisioned, but is there really anything wrong with that? After all, we can't stay young forever, and what's so great about youthful recklessness anyway?

all the world's a stage

After a day hanging out with the Binnie and bebe Margot, enjoying the brilliant turn up in the weather - sunshine! all day! temperatures over 20 degrees! - I hop on the train up to the South Bank for an evening of culture - King Lear at the Globe.

I studied King Lear for A Level and it's always been one of my favourite Shakespeare plays; the only stage version I've seen was a school trip to see it right before we read the book, and it was, by all accounts, a pretty crappy version.

The Globe itself is one hell of a place. I love that people took the time, patience and energy to rebuild this historical building. In fact I remember that my high school took part in a 'Sponsored Shakespeare' event (literally, readings of his plays for 24 hours straight, with people donating money for every hour or play that was got through) when Wanamaker and co. were raising funds.


I meet up with my friend in the coffee shop and hire cushions for £1 - well worth every penny. Musicians in 16th Century garb come out on stage and play on ancient instruments, before two of the actors come out and ask the audience to kindly not let any anachronisms such as phone rings or flash photography interrupt the play.

The performance itself is interesting; there's slightly less focus on the tragic aspects of the play, and the comedic side is turned up, but I enjoy it all and the individual performances are great. Though I did want to punch every member of the audience when there was a group "Awwww" when an insane Lear hugs Edgar in disguise as Mad Tom. IT'S NOT AN 'AWWW' MOMENT. Cretins.

Waiting for the bus back to Waterloo, a man starts chatting to me - a real local, South East London bloke - who tells me he was part of an activist group who opposed the building of the Globe, wanting instead for funding to go towards housing for local working class people in that area. I note that it's the first time I've ever gone to the Globe, but I'm sure it comes off as privileged whining. I shrug and sit away from him on the bus, my theatre buzz effectively snuffed by the guy. I guess I can understand his miffedness.

And now, a shameful secret I impart... There's a Dr Who episode in series 3 called the Shakespeare Code (wow, I've literally only just got that that's probably a play on the Da Vinci Code. I'm a dumbass) where the Dr and Martha encounter Shakespeare; the end scene occurs at the Globe, where they all fight off the bad guys for that episode. It's a brilliant scene, with a genuine laugh out loud Harry Potter reference. And as I sat in the theatre waiting for the play to begin, that was all I could think of. Not about how this was theatre as it used to be. Not about the historical importance of the place. Dr Who. Quel dommage.

oh i do like to be beside the seaside

So the Dream (temp) Job has come to an end, so I round up my peoples (Fi, Maria and the tot) and decide to head down to Brighton for the day (where I haven't been since I was 10). The weather's been so-so in the preceding few days, and we wake up the morning of the daytrip to slate grey skies and continuous rain. So far so bad. No one is amused. We pick up Maria and Tayo from Shepherd's Bush and hope for the best...

By the time we pass the sign welcoming us to West Sussex, there is more blue in the sky than grey; as we park in Brighton along the marina, the sun is starting to come out.

We head straight into the Sealife Centre (initally to use the toilets), and many fish and stingrays, one Amazon exhibit, some sharks and a wicked giant turtle (plus one mega tantrum from Tayo) later, we emerge to blazing sunshine and clear blue skies. Hurrah!

Food is on the agenda so we walk the couple blocks up to Momma Cherri's Soul Food Shack for lunch. I read a review of this place years ago in a newspaper, and it stuck with me as I realised I had gone to primary school with the owner's daughters, and Momma Cherri (or Cherita as I remember her by) frequently helped out with school drama productions and the like. I mentally filed it away for future use; now we're finally here, I suggest it to Maria, who apparently is familiar with Momma Cherri from Saturday Kitchen. So there we head. We're given a nice big table and there are plenty of toys for the tot. We each order a homemade lemonade (yum) and lots of food - a meatball sub, grilled catfish, hush puppies, cornbread (drool) and mac & cheese for Matteo. The food is all incredible; Tayo seems to prefer cornbread to actual substantial food but I'm happy to eat his mac cheese for him while he throws cucumber on the floor, hoovers up the corn bread, and flirts with Momma Cherri's very cute granddaughter.

All a little happier now are sugar levels are raised (we skip dessert, holding out for hot donuts on the pier later) and wander up to the Pavilion (what amazing buildings) then down to the pier. Fi and Maria are hunting for "saucy" postcards for their boss, we're all on the look out for donuts; we wander round the fairground (no takers for any rides, though I am quite tempted - as always - by the rollerghoster). Fi keeps going on about some milkshake shop she went to last time she was down visiting friends who are at Sussex Uni so we venture back into town, donuts in hand.

We get lost in the Lanes - she has no idea where this milkshake place actually is, so I make her call her friends. By the time we find it, there's a sign saying 'Back in 5' so we wander some more. Luckily when we return it's open so we get these apparently legendary shakes... and then Fi tips half of hers over Tayo, while trying to give him a sip. The poor kid sits there staring at her, at the half cup of milkshake all over his hoodie. Then politely asks for some more. Can't deny a sweet tooth... One quick change of clothes later, and we're all feeling the effects of sunshine, sea air and lots of food so head back to the car. While some lucky toddlers are passed out within about five minutes of being back on the road; some of us have to do the drive back and forget to get on the M25 from the M23 and have to navigate back through Croydon...

i love the smell of spring sunshine in the morning

My love/hate relationship with the Smoke is well documented, but on early Spring mornings when the sun is wide awake and the sky blue and the air fresh, foregoing the bus and walking over Waterloo Bridge up to Bloomsbury, London looks it finest - and, with just the right music on the old ipod, sets you up better for the day than the strongest cup of coffee could.

never an anachronism

I hate to cross-post again, but this is too great not to. I have frequently professed my love for mixtapes and making them (mix CDs, whatever) (God, the mixtapes I made as a teenager were works of *art*) on here, so Muxtape is like my dream website. How great?


photo nicked from the lovely jimmy-j, because his photo was better than anything that came up on google image search.

a little early celebration...

As Easter day happens to fall on my birthday this year, and in the UK Easter = four-day bank holiday weekend, and that means lots of people away, we went for birthday drinks last night at The Social.

These are about the most coherent photos of the night... all downhill from the nachos and champagne onwards (via some cocktails and too many shooters)...

welcome...

When we arrived back in Buxton after visiting Macclesfield, I discovered I had a text. I read the following and practically jumped and down with glee:

Sam, 01-03-2008 13:47
What a hoot! Margot Tess M----, 6lb 9, accidentally born at home after a brief-ish labour. All utterly hilarious. She is a beauty. X

Part of me was dying to know whether she'd actually been born that morning, or, fingers crossed, the day before - 29th February...

This evening I finally managed a visit to go say hi. I *always* forget just quite how tiny and fragile new born babies are. Mewww.

because we're dead

So tonight for the Diggler's birthday, we went to the ICA to go see Black Kids play. I like their songs okay plus there's been so much crazy hype about their live shows, my interest was piqued - and JD got the tix so I was happy to go along for his b'day.

After spending the earlier part of the evening walking round central London in the freeeeeezing cold (I finished work way before him), clutching new issues of Suburban Glamour and Buffy (if people make me kill time in the West End, I inevitably seem to end up buying comics. Need to stop that habit), peering through coffee shop windows like some kind of urchin looking for a warm place to sit, by the time I got to the ICA I was a little at that "meh" kind of stage. So I ordered up a strong drink, tried to psyche myself into gig mode... and then spotted that Slow Club were supporting that night.

I've already had them as my British Band of the Day over on Popserious but I just need to reiterate - I heart this band. Seeing them live was even better - the giggles, the slightly nervous banter (the room was shamefully empty when they played), the fact that Rebecca played drums and a chair (must be seen), and that they both were just generally adorable. I was bowled over and made happy again.

Black Kids, as it turns out, actually weren't much to write home about. But Slow Club were worth the price of admission.

meme, myself and i

Okay that was really lame. Sorry. So anyways, I got tagged, which I have discovered admittedly a little belatedly as my interweb usage has shrunk recently, but here goes. A quick recap of the rules:
1. Pick up the nearest book (of at least 123 pages).
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people.

Here goes. The first book on the pile next to my bed is England's Dreaming. It has more than 123 pages. It just turns out that p. 123 is the first in a new chapter, and is thus only three sentences long (most of the page being taken up with a large number 10 and an illustration of Lou Reed from an old zine. So I have to go for the one underneath that - I Am Legend, borrowed from Sam, finished last week, and not yet returned:

He took a deep breath, wondering why the tightness in him didn't break. For a while he'd thought that he trusted her. Now he wasn't sure.

I expect the meme stops here, as I don't know who still reads this that could be tagged...

And for the record, no I haven't seen the film, no I'm not really interested.

when routine bites hard, and ambitions are low

Rewind to Autumn Fall 2005. It's Sunday night; I rock up to apartment 3a in the Lower East Side to hang out and pick up a camera (for a photo project) I walk into what was then the living room to find myself staring at a huge rasterised poster on one wall. It's a striking - and familiar - image, and at some point during the evening it becomes clear that it's Joy Division (if there's one thing I got from New York, it was a musical education; my knowledge was pretty limited before I moved there). Later on, I look up JD, listen to them, realise I actually know a bunch of their songs - just never realised who they were by. I listen again. And again. And slowly Joy Division become one of my favourite, most-listened to bands.

Fast forward to - well, now. The lyrics I've used to title this post couldn't feel more apt: London is grinding me down, the seemingly neverending job hunt is so depressing and dispiriting, the temp job I'm at is doing my head in. It's time for an escape.

Friday we drive up North, via the old Alma Mater for a brief pit stop (quite odd going back there), then across to the Peak District, where I'm visiting my oldest friend who now lives in Buxton. As we're eating dinner, she asks if there's anything in particular I'd like to do that weekend. Well, I say, now you mention it...

Saturday comes and the driving rain of the night before has disappeared, though the wind tries to rip the car door off its hinges as I open it. We drive across the Peaks to the next big town over, Macclesfield, hometown of Ian Curtis, Joy Division's tortured lead singer, who committed suicide at the age of 23, in 1980.

As we drive through the cemetery gates, a part of me feels a bit odd about this. I'd talked to my friend Dan about the possibility of visiting the grave before I came, my doubts about it - but as he said, What else are pilgrimages? We park and look at the map of the graveyard as I'd read that Curtis's stone was the only one actually mentioned on the map. It isn't. His is a small kerbstone marker... one among very many. We walk around the cemetery for about half an hour - and of course it ends up being ten feet from where we'd parked (if only we'd circled the cemetery anti-clockwise..!)

I stand in front of it, not sure what to do or how to feel. Others have left small trinkets - some daffodils, a plastic windmill, even a box of cigarettes and a lighter. There's a tupperware tub there as well, which I'd read about on a memorial website; the author had opened it out of curiosity to find birthday cards to Ian, with the top one being from his mother. I don't touch it, it feels like it would be too intrusive. My kind friend, the non-Joy Division person, is starting to get cold and doesn't quite understand why I wanted to come here in the first place - and to be honest, I'm not sure I can even explain it myself.

There's a strange feeling, caught somewhere between my stomach and throat, as I stand there. That someone with that much potential has become a small stone marker, bedecked with plastic toys. We turn and head back to the car, and on the drive home I plug my ipod into her car stereo and play Joy Division to her ("Oh I know these songs", she says) and the feeling won't quite fade, but as the music fills the car and we drive through the old mining town and landscapes that formed the music, it morphs slowly into a sad kind of happiness and I realise that my friend Dan was right, that this was a pilgrimage of sorts, and that they don't always have to be religious. Sometimes they're just about a brilliant band that affects your life.

a sunny weekend with my camera glued in my hand

A very sunny yet numbingly cold February weekend in the Smoke, which was spent mostly outside and, for some reason, mostly by the river - at different ends of London. A trip along the Thames Path east from Tower Bridge with J-Dig on the Saturday, where I walked through parts of London I've never before ventured to and froze my ears, nose and fingers off in the process; Sunday, walking back from Richmond along the river, where everything was bathed in the golden tint of the late afternoon sun. I love winter when it's like this (if perhaps preferring it marginally warmer, as before...)

daytrip

Today was so nice we decided to escape London. We were planning on going to Oxford but faffed around too much at home beforehand so didn't leave ourselves enough time to get there and back before birthday drinks in the evening, so we stayed a little closer to home and went to Windsor for a wander in the ridiculously warm (for early February) sunshine. I heart castles.

inky hands

Life as I currently know it is so boring and tedious (christ do I hate job hunting) that it drove me to actually create a short comic, instead of just kind of scribbling down doodles and ideas as usual. I managed to get an inordinate amount of ink on my hands whilst inking it (because I'm a big spaz). It's pretty silly and retarded... but it was fun. I'm hoping this creative kick will continue and not just be a one-hit wonder. Here are the first few panels. The rest of the two page comic is up online somewhere (if you can find it, mwahahah)...

up against the mini bar...

So maybe it's a bit odd to repost on my blog from the group blog I'm part of but this is waaaayyy too good not to: Sarah Silverman and Matt Damon.

Veronica Mars series 3 finale

What.

The.

Hell.


And not in a good way.

Panda - Dungen