ART is.... 

working on something 'til you like it..
  then leaving it that way

New film from UCLAN

  This is a film I made recently as part of Uni. It's in HD so ya can watch it at 720p, and please do Full Screen it!! the Version that's uploaded is a DVD version, not a net streaming one so that has probably affected the quality a little but it took all day to upload ( Biiiiiiiiiig File) so I might as well show it.

I'm 90 percent happy with it, don't hesitate to let me know what ya think.

The Vagabond
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lbTUMxNXJV8

If the link doesn't work, you'll have to copy and paste I'm afraid!!

Samir Nasri...... France's successor to Zidane?

Samir Nasri. Two Sensational Goals today, to take his tally to 11 goals in 19 games. It's December 5th 2010. Can he get 20 goals??
The Arsenal playmaker, perhaps spurred on by his inexplicable ( and ultimately fortunate) exclusion from France's ill-fated World Cup disaster, is in the form of his life. He has justified Wenger's faith in signing him two seasons ago, with his promise of potential now turned into world class performance.
It looks as if Arsenal have finally found their successor to the Robert Pires. Just don't compare him to Zidane just yet. Even as a ten year old, Nasri didn't entertain such comparisons!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V5tAONm0y3Y

If ya want to see the subtitles, don't forget to fullscreen it!!

Pirates!

Why are Pirates called Pirates??

Shiver me timbers matey!!!

Because they just AAARRRRR!

The Angriest Dog in The World

This was a cartoon that ran in The LA Reader from between 1983 and 1992. It's author was David Lynch, and it was borne out of a time when he was experiencing great anger. Like all great artists, he used his emotions and feelings as inspiration for creation.
The cartoon has to be one of the simplest ever devised. It consists of 3 identical frames. The 4th frame is the same except it is now nighttime The only things that change are the speech bubbles from a couple inside the house, usually in the form of a non-sequitur or an aphorism or adage.  Their nonsensical palaver is heard every minute of every day by their dog, who is chained to a post. He is a very angry dog.
Have you ever experienced feelings of anger that are so great that you can barely breath? If you do, then you have something in common not only with David Lynch, but with the Angriest Dog in the World too.

The dog who is so angry he cannot move. He cannot eat. He cannot sleep. He can just barely growl. Bound so tightly with tension and anger, he approaches the state of rigor mortis.

Movember

For the month that's in it, Here is a post dedicated to moustaches.

James Coburn, A study in Moustache Mastery

Oliver Reed, Moustachioed Marvel

Day-Lewis, Moustache and eye-catching Stubble combination

The HandleBar, in homage to the 70's

Sam Elliot, All I can say is Fantastic

Tom Selleck. What more Can I say?

A Cat with no name

A Cat with no name, that was my cat. We had this cat for 10 years, and for some reason we never gave it a name. Well, not an official name. It had many monikers such as " the big fella" "blackie" " fatcat" ( in the winter time he turned into a fat bloater, and in his latter years he was a lazy fucker too).

I'd like to point out that any monikers given to him by me relating to his weight were all affectionate.

And his fat condition was seasonal anyway, so he could always revert to normal weight in summer time. To be honest, he was a cat, he didn't know what I was on about. So it doesn't matter.
Anyway I'd like to think of his name as "pppssssshhhh wsssssshhhh" which is a sound rather than a word really. This is because if you went outside and couldn't find him, he would emerge from the undergrowth after a few utterances of that sound " ppsssshhh wssshhh"

 Imagine being known as a sound, rather than a word??? Bad Ass if you ask me.

So "pppssssshhhh wssssssshhh" died in September, while I was away in England. He had been sick since August. So I left knowing that I probably wouldn't see the cat again. Kind of hoping too, because I didn't want to see him suffer.
You might think it's ridiculous that I'm writing about a cat in this way, But I don't really, and I'm kind of surprised about it too. But I really liked the cat.
When I came home from college or nights out or whatever, I'd always look and wait for his head to poke around the corner to see who had strolled in the gate. Then he'd happily trot over so I could pet him before I went into the house.
I came home from England recently, my girlfriend dropped me off at my front gate and I started walking into the drive. I was happy, I had seen my girlfriend, and I was just about to see my family( who I hadn't seen in 2 months). But Instead of going to the front door and in to see them, I first started making my way around the side of the house to see my cat.
Halfway around the house, I remembered he was dead, and I realised I wouldn't be seeing him trotting over to me.
It took me a minute or two before I could go into the house. Emotional Stuff.
All this over a cat with no name!!!

                               Cheese is made from Milk.

MOOooo

Girls, we're in a library

I'm in the library, to be more specific I'm in one of the mac media suites in the library. I'm sitting in front of a big screen, getting ready for 5 or 6 hours of work. A screen this big, it's hard to take your eyes off it. So working shouldn't be hard. Now, if only I had earphones.
Because it turned out it was about 4 and a half hours of work, half hour of messing on facebook and other sites not related to my work, and then about an hour of getting distracted by two girls.
An hour of getting distracted by two girls!?
You may ask me this question. Sure, an hour sounds excessive. But it's the truth. 
Were they hot?
No

Now, this might have been a different story

They were lesbians. In the study area. I sat there trying to plan my report on 3 practitioners in the field of film, and I start hearing sounds. Smacking and popping. Grand, I thought. Someone's probably aggressively chewing gum or something. I lean to the side of the big screen and I see two girls kissing each other. Right. They are lesbians, No problem with that at all.
They can be lesbians if they want to be. So I start typing.


" Two factors greatly influenced my final choices. Number 1 was that I wanted to talk about practitioners that have not only influenced the wider field of film making..... "


Smack


 "....but that have also influenced me personally. Both in terms... "


Pop


"........of my previous work and in terms of what I want to achieve with smack and also pop..."


Now wait just a fucking second! It's fucking distracting ok, when I go to the library to do some work for the first time in weeks and a pair of lesbians start to profusely mac the face off each other, feet away from me. They were actually COMPETING
.....Were they hot?
No, they were minging. Get a fucking room. 

12.44pm, WTF???

The morning of Nov 10th. I'm lying in bed. It's cold. It's freezing. When I open my eyes and breath I can see clouds of it in the air. But, I , In my two layers of thermal t-shirts am snug and warm under the covers.
I was making a point of getting up early in time for class that morning, after my few days in Ireland meeting the friends and the folks. I decided I'd go to bed early, to enhance my chances of getting up early and fresh as a daisy. Was not going to miss this class. No. Fucking. Way.
I went to bed at 3am. 
From between 6am and 9am I woke up at regular intervals, such was my enthusiasm for getting up early for this class. I was in and out of sleep in the same manner a person blinks their eyes, snapping in and out of regular patterns of darkness and light.
Somehow, and I don't know how, on the second last time that I opened my eyes from my sleep It was 12.44pm. Not 12.45, not a quarter to one. It was 12.44pm. I didn't check my watch or my phone.
I just knew it was 12.44pm.

Sleepy sleepy snoozey snooze

I had missed my class. Shit. For about 10 seconds I lay there in equal, consecutive moods of disbelief, anger, despair, and finally acceptance. The stages of anger or whatever it's called. Acceptance is the most important stage.
 ....Fuck it, I missed it.
Then I realised my dissertation class was at 1pm. Seeing as it was 12.44pm, there was no chance I'd be able to get up, get dressed, and walk to class in time. So once again, fuck it. I'm going back to sleep.
I'm warm, I'm comfortable, I'm as snug as a cinnamon bud in a rug, or something equally as warm and comforting.
Then bam, I drift back into light and that ringing noise I hear is my alarm going off waking me up. It's 9am.
YES! I hadn't missed class!!!
But.......... I had already accepted that I did. So now it's really decision time. After putting my alarm on snooze for the following 9 minutes I weighed up the pros and cons and made the right choice, my original choice, and I got out of bed and went to class.

Bear Grylls in .........London!

One of my favourite shows on tv has got to to be Born Survivor, presented by Bear Grylls. Not only does it contain beautiful exotic locations and remote landscapes which normally wouldn't feature on any other show, but it features modern day Hercules Bear Grylls negotiating himself through the danger for all the folk watching at home. I've noticed on many occasions an easier way for Bear to do things, but he is always thinking of the millions at home when he dives into a swamp, barely dragging himself across to the other side, preventing himself from sinking by sheer power and athleticism. He looks like he enjoys it too.
   I think though, what he enjoys most is the brutal slaughter of every animal in his path. Sure, he needs food, but I think the real reason Bear hunts down innocent frogs and deer and scorpions ( Yes, he eats scorpions) is his insane and psychotic urge to kill. When going naked through a freezing cold river, desperately struggling to battle against the flow, I'm sure deep inside he has the thought of what to kill next to warm him up and give him the motivation. Any anger he now feels will be taken out on the first animal he finds.
For example: Bear walks into a tunnel. He sees a big frog sitting there minding it's own business. He beckons camera crew over and picks up the frog.  For the audience benefit, he tells some facts about the frog, useless trinkets of cultural insignificance. I imagine people at home watching, from the warmth of their fires " Hey look kids, ah so this is the Vietnamese Tree Frog.. Wow, it can really do that?? Interesting....Whoa hang on, Bear what you doing!?!"
The thrill of the living room -explorer is soon gone, as he watches as Bear grabs the frog by its back legs and brutally smash it's head repeatedly against a stone ledge, a maniacal look of fury in his eyes. Not one for subtlety, is Bear. Once again, I know he needs food but...........He even stabbed a reindeer in the head, drank blood from its throat, and ripped it's heart out!!!! A reindeer!!!

This trend continues in every episode, usually more than once. I think the producers of the show purposely send him to areas where he can unleash his fury. What I really want to know is... why is Bear like this?? What incident in the past with wildlife provoked him into this life of chaos, hostility, and murder?? What makes him tick??? What does he eat for breakfast when living at home??
In fact, I'm not sure Bear should live at home, in an area full of other people. I can only imagine him sitting at home, waiting for nightfall, the cover of darkness, speaking into an invisible camera....
   " Ok, night time has fallen here in London, and now is precisely the time to hunt with minimum risk of danger..... Just at the end of the street lives an old widow, and if i can just hop over this big wall, and silently squeeze in through this small window, And silently creep in to her room without waking her, I'll have a good meal for tonight"

Poor Old Rudolph won't be turning up for work this Christmas

I still like him though, he has a cool name. Combines two of the most manly things you can get. Bears and Grills.

Smuggling Peanuts

       
I am glad now to be in the full swing of things in Preston, even though at the moment the level of work looks daunting. One of the things I've been enjoying lately is watching Friends. I don't care what anyone says, Friends was a good show, especially when you compare it all the other moronic drivel that does be on the box these days. 
Amidst all the absolute shite that I flick through on mornings/ afternoons spent hungover on the couch, I find that Friends is the only reliable programme I can catch. This is because E4 seem to show it constantly. And here I know they show Scrubs ALL THE TIME too, but I'm really sick of Scrubs. Does Every single episode have to have a meaning?!? Or some sort of moral lesson!? Sickening. And the writers of Scrubs are hypocrites too, those moral lessons have clashed on more than one occasion.
But Friends is guiltless fun. Something that ya can sit there and chill and watch and not think too hard. Another big reason would be Jennifer Aniston. Not a bad actress, quite funny but I think all the lads know what I mean when I say Jennifer Aniston.
  Even now yeah, but in the old days? Oof Madonn'
And I dunno if its the tight t shirts, or whether the set is very cold, or whether she is always horny, but at least once in every episode without fail, she will be smuggling peanuts.So that's Two more reasons. Oh Riiiight

Pissing while Pissed

I'll tell you one thing and I wont tell you two things. Well, I probably will end up doing just that, but I like the figure of speech.
Now, when going out for a few drinks, there are very few things one should worry about. And if one has any worries, after the few drinks take their toll ( I find a few drinks does wonders to lighten up one's soul), all the worries become nothings and pieces of piss. But, and not to be crude, piss leads me on to my point and my topic of this blog. It is, ironically,  for me the essence of perpetual worry when it comes to going on a night out, be it a in a pub, a club or a restaurant. A club in fact is the biggest factor when it comes to this worry.

Bathroom Etiquette: I enter the bathroom. I lock the door. If there is a sprinkle left over, I clean it up. I wash my hands, thoroughly.

If I'm in a nightclub however..... I go into the bathroom. Depending on the amount of high class beverages I've enjoyed on the particular night, I'll either go straight to the urinal or straight to a cubicle. I'll have to put up with taking a piss in the urinal amongst several other people of probably as drunk a disposition as myself, and this leads to concern for more than one reason.
A. It is very important to aim properly. And avoid backsplash. Wearing jeans or dark coloured material may let you get away with the visual aspect of backsplash, but I've learned the hardway that a pair of grey slacks will make you look like a clumsy fool.
B. Engaging people in conversation while at the urinal. Sample conversation:  Man one says:" Awh man Arsenal were savage today" Man two: " Fuckin tell me about it pal" End of sample conversation. These conversations will usually extend to two sentences at most. Sentence one is being friendly, by sentence two you realise you are taking a piss and that talking to a complete stranger a yard away from you while doing so is a bit awkward and just doesn't feel right.
C. This for me is the biggest thing that bugs me while in the jacks. And it's the most simple, most basic, most decent thing ya can ever do after working on the auld waterworks, if ya get me drift. Why can't people ( and ladies, as I've only ever been in a ladies toilets once, and not by choice, I can only assume it's only men who don't do this) not wash their bloody hands before leaving the toilet???? Now you may think this may not impact upon me , ( I assure you i wash my hands profusely)  cos i may not know the specific person I see doing this and may not interact with them for the whole night, BUT when they leave the bathroom they have to put their dirty, filthy, wet hands on the door handle. Germs, bacteria etc... these bugs bug me. I have to go through them to leave.
I can only hope that I have enough drinks not to worry about it, at the time.
:D

Crossing the bridge

 A pint of Guinness is a beautiful thing. It just keeps giving. Pint number 1.. Just to refresh you and quench your thirst, Pint number 2, usually occurs because of the simple rounds system ( ie i buy us two pints, then you buy us two pints).. When it comes to number 3, it comes to decision time.  Having pint number 3 is like crossing a bridge. , a glorious, heavenly bridge.It's either go home, good luck , I'll see ya later, or crossing the bridge, because what this bridge leads to is more pints, alot of craic, and a slow but steady loss of sobriety. 

Last night after a few pints ( not a few too many...yet) sitting in O'Neil's ( Yes an Oirish bar, yeow) I watched as my new house mate hesitantly stammered when asked if he wanted another drink in this round. He looked At Lawless's empty pint glass, took a glance over at me as I drained the last of my porter into me, and then finally his eyes rested on his own 2 thirds full pint of Strongbow that he had been nursing for the last few minutes. ( He is studying to be a nurse but, I mean, this was just too much). Anyway He had hardly the time to contemplate the answering of this question when a full pint was put down in front of him. As I waited on the next guinness, He said to me he was told that if he ever went out drinking with Irish people, they would drink him under the table. I assured him this was the case, and pointed to the evidence that was still in front of us in the form of empty Guinness Pint glasses. He stared blankly at them and began upping the tempo with his own Pint of Strongbow.  This is going to be trouble, I thought. 

The few Irish words yer man knew ( we had taught him earlier that day) were then regurgitated about a hundred times back to  us over the new few hours. Not really a stickler for the Irish language, I found myself becoming one when I began correcting him on his pronunciation. Unfortunately, I don't know the Irish for " SHUT UP THE FUCK!!!"  Ah jaysus. Surprisingly, in his stumbling, mumbling and blind drunk state, that was all he regurgitated. Ah well, better luck next time.     

Grammar

Just a quick note on my title " McGovdogs's Blogs"
I am fully aware of the grammatical error in this, I am not illiterate.
This error was not pointed out to me by any third party, I in fact noticed it right after I posted it.
I think I might change it though, I know how pernickety some people can be about grammar. The queen's English and the likes. Although ya know I don't mind making a few mistakes with a language that is, in theory anyway, my second language.
I mean everybody makes mistaks. Sorry, mistakes*

In the beginning

Blog number 1 just to get me up and running. I guess you could call this a test blog. "Thee Test Blog." I however am going to call it " In the beginning".  Soon there will be a middle. A lot of middle.