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.