Sunday, 14 August 2011

A review of Bridget Christie: Housewife Surrealist




Christie's 2011 Edinburgh Fringe outing takes place in The Stand 2, a smaller, more confined sequel to The Stand itself. In many ways it is physically higher up, due to the accession of stairs occurring before entering the venue, rather than after.

Due to the crowded nature of the lobby area, I actually had to pass a friend a ten pound note to purchase drinks, as he had accidentally attained a more succinct and strategic vantage point on the bar - and it was my round. The refusal to accept Scottish notes was a predictable let down, but from a shrouded glance at the coins I received in change, I can say that the drinks were priced averagely for the time and place. The cider tasted of apples, which more than can be said for the Pear Kopparberg.

The queue was scattered, like someone had dropped a game of scrabble into a funnel, then scattered something else over the floor, however reasonable priority awareness was exercised when we finally entered the performance room. The show operated a strict "no latecomers" policy, which agreed with me both as an amateur comedian, and a premature ejaculator. Although the prospect of being anywhere The Stand, and any alluded mention of Stewart Lee, had already inflated my penis to a monitorable level.

Entering the performance room was much like entering a circular room with tiered single chairs that faced a stage area. The end of the second last row offered the chance to comfortably sit with my backpack by my side on the floor, propped up against an unused fireplace that offered no comedic input to the atmosphere whatsoever. The seating layout straddled the line of intimacy and claustrophobia well, leaving the broader gentleman to exchange horizontal shoulder altitudes with each other, for the entire hour.

The product of sitting still for an hour and drinking cider offered the opportunity to visit the toilets upon departure. They operated the minimal divisible station of a 2:1:1 ratio between urinals, sinks and toilet. Maintained, but unloved.

Christie's performance itself was good, and I quite fancied her by the end.


 YeeeeUP

7/10

Thursday, 23 June 2011

Napster Margherita

Back in the day when you wanted a pizza you went to the shop and bought one.

Then takeaways become very popular and you could just phone up and get a pizza delivered straight to your door.

But since the internet became so popular, millions of people are now going online, choosing from a enormous range of pizzas and downloading them for free, and it's killing the industry.

Now technological advances are good and all, but ever since 16-inch broadband came along it has become a lot easier for people to download pizzas through their giant anaconda style internet cables. The only justice being that pizzas come in square boxes, so if you do the maths, the largest pizza you can fit down a 16-inch cable is about 11.3inches. Thankyou Pythagoras, you've just saved Dominoes 30% in their battle with pirate pizza downloads

But this doesn't stop millions of websites streaming illegal all you can eat buffets all over the world. Everyone from the big pizza chains like Pizza Hut and Dominoes, to the smaller fast food outlets are suffering, because they have to rely on a small group of honest diehard customers, like the family from Home Alone and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, to buy their pizzas.

It's also having a devastating effect on the scooter industry.

Now I don't download pizzas, I pay for mine, I get all the extra toppings and garlic bread and I tip the delivery guy at least 15% and this is because I like to enjoy a good honest meal when I sit down to listen to a new album two weeks before it's release date.


Saturday, 18 June 2011

Life Lesson

I don't update this blog very often because if you don't have anything interesting to say, you should shut your stupid face.

My gift to you.

Tuesday, 17 May 2011

Is it a bird? Is it a plane ...woah shit yeah, it's a plane.

When I can't sleep, I like to watch videos of plane crashes.

I usually like to watch about an hours worth of plane crash videos before attempting to sleep as well.

I don't know what it is about plane crashes, but they are beyond fascination. I think it's because, in my opinion, plane crashes are top of the list when it comes to disasters. Millions of pounds go into the designing, testing, manufacturing and operating of airplanes, then you fill them with people who have paid a fairly large amount of money to be on them, then you take that whole package into the sky and then it crashes and kills everyone and destroys everything. I mean, that is what I call a lose, lose, situation. In hindsight - probably shouldn't have bothered. It's like buying 42 inch widescreen TV and a Nintendo Wii, only to smash the controller through the screen on your first game of Tennis.

It's like that.

Plane crashes can be avoided, they are man-made disasters, and that's why they are so much worse than natural disasters. Tsunami's for instance, roll into town, uproot houses, sweep entire towns away and clock up huge death tolls, what can you do about it though? - just stand and applaud as you get run over by a library. They don't have nearly the level of menace that a plane crash has. Look at Japan, we saw a week of just out-of-control devastation, pure rulebook physics just fucking stuff up and that was the end of the enquiry - nobody's fault, it will probably happen again, let's get cleaning. They won't have made a dent repairing the damage caused, but the interesting part is over, and nobody watching TV cares any more. The only interesting part was the precarious nuclear situation, which was, yes, man-made - and the only real way to make sure that goes down in history as a memorable disaster is if a plane crashes in to it.

Wow, imagine.

It's not up for debate that human beings love watching plane crashes. 9/11 being the mother of all plane crashes goes to show that. People want to see all angles of the crashes, they want to know where it hit, how fast it was going, how low it was flying, what flight number it was, what the onboard vegetarian option was. Everything. And not only did 9/11 capture the fascination of the entire world, it made plane crashes cool! A few years later "Lost" came out - a whole fucking TV series about a plane crash that was the most popular show for the six years it was on. Then the minute that finished another american TV show called "The Event" started up, and just to wet the appetite of the frothing public, it featured an out-of-control jumbo jet heading straight for a populated area in it's pilot (no pun intended) episode! So don't frown at me watching plane crash videos online all the time, at least I'm not making up new situations where plane crashes could happen. I'm reflecting on the how we as human beings react to real, visual disaster, I'm not re-writing Titanic so that the ship hits an iceberg - then get's hit by a plane.



But I'm telling you, the crucial part to a totally shocking plane crash is the human involvement. Look at this image from then 2009 monster/disaster film "Mega Shark Versus Giant Octopus".


The text isn't in the actual film, but what you can clearly see happening there is that a giant shark has jumped out of the ocean and taken down a plane. The effect has been lost. This is the Chris Tucker of plane crashes, even if it happened in real life you'd just be like "well that was totally O.T.T., but it happened... now what?"

Meanwhile this artists impression of a collision between a taxi-ing Pan am 747 and a KLM Boeing 747 that was attempting take-off in Tenerife in 1977, that killed 583 people...


...christ

...

...

to Youtube!











Wednesday, 13 April 2011

Eezee Trapeze

I only usually update this blog when I have something interesting to say, and since the main point of its inception was to charter my various fads and passing interests, I thought it was worth telling everyone that I just got bored and signed up for a 5 week course called Eezee Trapezee. I feel it's only fair, especially as I didn't mention the block of Argentine Tango lessons I did in March.

Moving on...

Eezee Trapezee runs at Firhill Sports Complex (Glasgow, yes) and involves learning some circus shit or something - I've know idea, we'll find out when I get there. It was a toss up between booking that or just Yoga, until the superhero potential of learning to do cool aerial rope stuff was pointed out to me. The key line for me was "no strength or flexibility required" as I can barely touch my knees. The only flexibility I have is being able spend my afternoon finding a ridiculous course to go and book.

But, in a week where one of my friends went out and bought a parrot to satisfy an unquenchable thirst for exotic animals and another woke up on Sunday and decided to just go buy a Nissan Figaro, I feel I have dropped behind somewhat on the spontaneity spectrum. In order to fully catch up, I'd probably still need to just walk out of my house and get on a flight to... Jakarta... but the thing about too much spontaneity is that you'd never have anything to look forward to.

Much of this has come from the fact that: the Glasgow Comedy festival is over and I have vowed to take at least two weeks off gigging/watching comedy and going out and drinking too much, and that other than modelling a fairly sweet Sonomatic Pipe Scanner, I've been somewhat dead at work for April - so I need interesting stuff to fill my time.

useful for the home

I went through a phase two weeks ago of going to Mitchell Library every afternoon and pretending to do important research along with all the other scholars and students that populate the desks there. One day I read the entire script to the second series of "I'm Alan Partridge", the next I read a magazine about writing - which is a bit like drinking a glass of water in the shower.

Then last week I had a dream that I should write a book called "Ciara from Skytown". No idea where that one came from, but I loved the sound of it and pictured the main character as being like Little My from The Moomins, but much more introverted and intelligent.


I started writing down some ideas and stuff, then I even had a go at just diving in and starting it, but I have completely lost interest now. If anyone has any cool ideas for such a title - fax me. The story so far goes that she gets on a train.

The point that I've just started making in the last two paragraphs is that I can not do anything interesting or productive without there being consequences for not doing it. I have always known this, but occasionally stray from the path to try and prove myself wrong, but it never works out in the long run.

If I'm to model a Sonomatic Pipe Scanner, I need someone to tell me give me a deadline, and not pay me if I miss it.
If I'm doing stand-up comedy, I need gigs booked. I need a specific time to be prepared for, so that I don't look like a dick.
If I'm writing a book based on a title I dreamt, I either need a publishing deal or a gun pointed to my head bollocks.
Ergo, if want to be a trapeze artist, I need to take a bloody course, run by someone else, with dates, and times, and prices, that will bloody teach me how to do it or I'm £40 worse off and have nothing to talk about!

And that would all make so much sense if I did want to become a trapeze artist. But I honestly just want to go so there might be some weird people I can laugh it.

Monday, 28 March 2011

Smoookin'

Picture the scene, it's Thursday evening, you've just had dinner, you get a text, one word "pint?"

Is this from some kind of curious milkman?
No, it's your mate Andy asking if you would like to join him for a drink in a pub.

Cracking idea, yes, just what I need to let off some stress. Excellent.

So, you meet up with him outside your favourite pub.
"Hey man"
"Hey!"
But just before you go in, Andy decides to light up a cigarette. Right, well that's cool. I'll just hang here shall I in baltic space?
Or will I go inside and make sure there's a scrumptious pint of Tennent's waiting for you when you decide to come in?
Fuck it, I'm just going to put my headphones on and listen to a song. Yes, I could have done that on the way here, but I decided not to. This particular song lasts 4:24 just so we can reschedule the beginning of out evening around it, I'm sure you'll understand. If you finish before me, just go in, I'll be in after this. Mine's a Tennent's.

I look like a arsehole.

Anyway, twenty minutes later, the night is underway, half empty glasses, conversation, then all of a sudden, out of nowhere, Andy just gets up and leaves. Just leaves the pub. No sign of him for a good while, you're just there on your own, exactly like you were when you were in in your house an hour earlier - only then you had things you could be doing.

He returns ten minutes later,
"Oh I just got talking to this guy outside who works in that other bar, you know, nice guy, he was telling me all about.."
"Oh hold on mate", I interrupt.
"Excuse me for just a moment!"
I leave the table.

Ten minutes later I return.
"That must have been a big shite!" Andy jokes.
"No Andy, it was not, I actually went to the internet cafe across the road as I am addicted to Facebook. Anyway, got chatting to a mate of my cousins who randomly added me, nice guy, we both like Battlestar Galactica, although he hasn't seen past season 3."

Again, I look like an arsehole.

So about half an hour after that, we're over it, two fresh pints, but Andy is clearly tiring of so much continious conversation.
"I won't be long, can you just watch my pint", as he gets up and out the front door again.
Aye, no bother. I'll just guard your pint, make sure nobody takes our table, our seats, or our jackets, that's why I'm here. I will make sure that the everything here is safe. I'm good at that.
Ten minutes later he re-enters, walks right past to the toilet, and is back in his seat another five minutes later, having stopped by the pub cigarette machine to spend £47 on twenty Benson and Hedges.
"Right Ross, sorry about that, where were we..."
Well Andy, I was just saying that this device here is the remote control to the C4 explosive vest that woman over there is wearing. It's motion sensitive, so don't drop it below shoulder height, anyway, just hold on to that for a wee bit, cos I'm going to pop back over the road to tag myself in some photos."

Arsehole. I am thee.

By my own admission, it is a strange way to react to smokers, but I feel it's justified. Besides, I'm a lot better than I used to be. Before the indoor smoking ban kicked in, when Andy sparked up a cigarette in front of me I used to just release a cobra into the pub to see if it bit anyone.

Sunday, 27 February 2011

Focus Hocus

A lot has happened in the two months since I posted last, just nothing that I have a page worth of hilarious things to say about. So in the style of the popular science magazine Focus, here is a numerical run down of what's been happening, yo.

2 - the amount of times I moved house in the first two weeks of January.
22 - the most amount of episodes of American TV series "Entourage" I managed to watch in one day.
4 - the amount of things that actually happened in those 22 episodes.
8 - the number of buttons that have fallen off my H&M Sgt Pepper funeral coat (some repeat offenders).
Too many - the number of times I've been back in Aberdeen.
£2.25 - the cheapest pint of Strongbow I can find in Glasgow (The State Bar).
£3.00 - promotional drinks price on a leaflet I was handed in Edinburgh.
155 - minutes I've spent on stage telling jokes.
0/20 - the amount of Scottish people in the crowd at a recent gig in Edinburgh.
10 - the number of times I've turned on the wrong ring on the cooker due to my hob dyslexia.
7 - the number of times I've re-watched the sketch where Dee Dee goes to Yoker from Limmy's Show.
127 - The number of hours James Franco spent traumatised and unable to move, after finally watching Spiderman 3.
9 - the number of months it took me to submit a tax return saying I had no tax to pay for 2009/10.
£100 - the fine I got for such a tardy submission.
0.005 - the number of seconds my face appeared in the new Mogwai video.
3 - the amount of times I have started going to the gym every week.
11am - the time that a student gym gets too busy to go to.
5 - the amount of words this Total Wipeout application form wants me to describe myself in. Can't we make it syllables? Sar Cas Tic Dick Head. Submit.
18 - cubic metres of hot ashes I have poured into wheelie bins to be a renegade.
12 - grey hairs I have on my head - on the cusp of fatal mass multiplication.
30 - the controversial wattage of a rare fluorescent tube bulb for the bathroom that I had to travel to fucking Drumchapel B&Q for. It's worth it to be able to see my thighs during a dump now though.

I did have something important to say but it's gone. I think it was about making friends and meeting new  people.



Or it might have been about my bowel movements.

Saturday, 1 January 2011

Happy New Near

Today is January 1st 2011, time really does move forward after your born doesn't it? I remember when it was 2000, it literally feels like years ago.


This entry has been entitled "Happy New Near" as a tribute to my sister, who genuinely thought that was what the phrase was until she was at least 10. One day she just looked down at what she had written and realised something wasn't right about it. But hell, I didn't realise a budgerigar was a budgie until I was 15, I thought it was part of a fireplace.


Anyway, I have made a new years resolution to make £200 this year from performing stand-up comedy between now and December 31st. Having amassed a credit-crunch beating £30 in 2010, I think £200 for 2011 is a challenging but realistic target that will serve me well in getting where I want to be going with comedy. But I already need to try a lot harder, because no less than 12 hours into the new year something awful happened.


I spent this Hogmanay in a wigwam by a loch in Perthshire. I then drove back to Glasgow, passing through the town of Callander. My ears prick up, as there was surely some comical connection to be made. The cogs in my brain twist slowly, still lubricated with mulled wine and whatever other shit I was drinking and I manage to come out with...


"It will be a new calender for the people of Callender today."


What the fuck? I seemed to have turned into a dad. The dad with no children. The worst kind of dad. Should I just ditch my wardrobe for a selection of comfortable "The North Face" garments now? Am I going to start going up to comedians and suggesting a few horrendous joke-book gags that they might want to consider adding to their set?


"Hey that was good, see after you do that routine about interspecies sex, you should say 'and of course, the difference between a buffalo and a bison is... you can't wash your bands in a buffalo.'"


Mmmm, practical.


Anyway, this is my last day in my current flat, marking a year I have lived here and in Glasgow. Tomorrow morning I'm throwing everything in the van I have borrowed from my father (The North Face spokesman for the North East) and will be clearing off to Aberdeen... then moving back to Glasgow next week. This computer is the last thing to put away so I'm going to make this one short.


I had planned a bit of a speech about how sickening Christmas is - the injustices of the millions on the streets, starving and hungry whilst the rest of us stuff our faces and decide which copy of Inception to watch afterwards - how Christmas seems to be for the benefit of HMV, how New Year seems to be for the benefit of 02 and how new year is when your nearest rip-off gym starts tractor-beaming you to their 12-month membership contracts. But now we've all got the stuff we want, and all the stuff we don't, it's over for another year, so I'd rather just forget about it and look forward to the non-landmark days. Tuesdays, the middle of the month, the rest of the day after a dental check-up - they all have potential to be great. I like looking-forward to doing what I want with my time, which is why I'm not even going to bother trying to stop sleeping so much because sleeping is fantastic and makes the time you are awake more enjoyable. I don't even mind working either and I'm not dreading it's return at all as I treated myself to a new wide-screen monitor for my computer over the holidays.


So in reality my new years resolution is 1920 x 1080.


Thank you, thank you, I will be here all... fucking... year.