I’m not returning to London tonight. Sod it. Take that, London. One in the eye for you, and no mistake. Ha. I’m going to spend the evening waiting for the Messiah instead. I mean, Jesus. You wait all weekend for your Lord to rise, and instead you’re left stuck in front of My Best Friend’s Wedding trying not to think about your life. I’ll go back tomorrow. Fuck it.
Wherever you are provides a rather more helpful piece of advice regarding “how to get over a crush” (see my earlier post) – advice that I intend to undertake immediately:
“And, of course, it’s missing the obvious way to get over a crush. Number six in this list should be: ‘Trust in the power of magical forces. Construct a voodoo doll of (a) either the person on whom you have the crush, or (b) their current partner. Then sell your soul to Beelzebub and hope for the best.’ Now that is much more practical advice.”
So there’s going to be a sequel to American Psycho, the Christian Bale movie in which the amiable 80s yuppie did lots of exercise, looked good in the mirror and sat around brooding while covered in blood and cradling a sizeable axe [BBC News]. But this is only the beginning – “Actress Mila Kunis – best known for her part in the sitcom That 70s Show – will take up the knife-wielding role of the protagonist. She will play a victim of the original psycho, played by Christian Bale, who turns aggressor, causing havoc on a college campus.” And it’s all in the best possible taste, of course…
The most facile answers ever given to the question: “How to get over a crush?” I should point out that this question was today’s other strange (and totally inappropriate) search-request and that I didn’t just stumble upon this site in a mood of psycho-sexual-spiritual desolation.
Decision of the day is whether or not to return to the big smoke this evening or first thing in the morning. I have to prepare for some contract work I’m starting on Tuesday at a company called Avondi at some point tomorrow, so I should go back late this evening and get some sleep. But I’m scared of going back to London and having to face up to long-term employment prospects, pending financial catastrophe and emotional insolvency. And I really want to see Jason and the Argonauts.
Search request of the day goes to “Pictures of me I’m good looking”, which is not only absurdly ridiculous, but manages somehow to bring up Luke, Meg and me as the top three links. And it is true. We are all extremely good looking.
I’m getting increasingly irritated by being linked to by weblogs that are substantially better than plasticbag.org. It’s not my fault, godammit. I try to write good stuff, but it all turns into crap when it hits the screen. And I know that my design’s a bit lacklustre, but you don’t have to draw attention to it by just sitting there and being cooler than me.
I am extremely upset that I missed dinner at the home of the Finchley Three on Thursday. This is one reason to wish I was back in London, I suppose.
I find myself horrified by the prospect of returning to London. Norfolk is providing an incredible escape from all the crap I’m supposed to be dealing with at the moment that I don’t really want to have to be dealing with, but can’t see a way to avoid. I really need a couple of months of something radically different. My cousin Chloe came around this morning, and she suggested that we take off around the West Coast of America for a couple of weeks. I said I’d love to if I stumbled upon a spare five grand.
My brother informs me that my mother says I look like Jamie Oliver. When I ask him in what way, he says, “You know… Scruffy.”