Misery Guts

Warning: A long and angry rant follows, so unless you want to commit yourself to this tirade I suggest you find another post...

Urgh. My life just gets worse and worse. I hate to complain - I'm hardly impoverished and starving in the third world - but I am so angry with how disappointing, how depressing, how busy, and how annoying my return to the UK is proving itself to be. Ive only been back for two months, but it feels like an long and drawn-out miserable eternity. I miss Spain.

Don't get me wrong, I am very pleased to be home. Sort of. I've seen most of my friends, all of whom I missed so much while I was away; but unless they are still students at the same university as mine, I've barely seen anyone. Furthermore, I've been thrown into a whole heap of projects both degree-related as well as extra-curricular. I've gone on about all of this before: reading for classes; the play I'm in; the play I'm writing; looking for speeches for Drama School; trying to get into shape; looking for a job; et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. It never ends!

The worst thing is that I'm very bored. I'm enjoying everything I'm doing while I do it, but there is a general sense of disappoinment. The country is on a downward slide (many spaniards would say the same of their country, but they don't know just how good they have it): we're still in recession, and it just seems to be getting worse. Despite getting really cheap flights, I've had to spend a lot once back here. Life is too expensive: my spanish friends who live here agree with me.

The truth is that life in Madrid isn't all that different. I would still have to work and/or study just as hard, and I'd probably have a whole heap of administrative problems to deal with, as well as the winter weather (yes, it does get cold, wet and windy in Spain). However, there was something about being there which made all of that bearable. Here, we don't have a street culture: we don't stop and chat/gossip with our friends in broad daylight at a volume only matched by transcontinental airliners. We don't have bars, cafés and restaurants on every street. We don't stare at each other on the metro. We don't strike up friendships by simply waiting for a bus. And we certainly don't swear as much in public.

I can feel an urge to just get my stuff together, pay for a cheap flight and go without telling anyone. I know that around this time last year I was pining away for Britain, but I soon got over that. If it weren't for the chance to see my best friends again, I wouldn't have left. Isn't that so sad? I feel like I've cheated all those I love here by saying that, but it really is the truth.

Of course, there is the option of just packing up and leaving once I graduate in June. The problem is how to be a professional actor. I want to be trained and have my theatre career in Britain, which really is the best place for it. I've already told myself that if I don't get into any of the schools, this year, I'm going to pick up my sticks and leave. Off to Spain, or even further away, to South America. I've yet to see the Andes, or Machu Pichu, or Patagonia.

Maybe I just need a holiday...

PS: Yes, I do need a shave and to get my hair did. Give me time!

I'd Rather Be With You

I'm not going to harp on about it. I've basically put this video up because it's Bootsy Collins, it's naughty, and it's making me think about a particular person I've become obssessed with in recent weeks. I won't go into details, so don't even bother asking. All you need to know is that he has no idea I'm this into him. I thought I was over crushes when I got to University. Evidently, I was wrong.

Here's another one which makes me think naughty thoughts. Oh Donna, if only...

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Clips, Music, Miscellany from Everybody's Favourite Tube

This Week: Old Sci-Fi, New (ie. remake of old) Sci-Fi, and No Sci-Fi

I have no shame in publicly admitting my love for the Science Fiction Genre. I would hardly call myself a hardcore fan, but I definitely know far too much apocrypha than can be good for me about such programmes as Doctor Who, Star Trek, Battlestar Galactica, and a whole range of well-known and not-so-well-known TV output dealing with the possibilities afforded by sci-fi.

One of these lesser-known shows is Blake's 7: like Firefly, but English, from the late-70s/early 80s, and with a great long-running villain. Servalan was both evil and highly sexual, often flirting (and maybe more) with her enemies in order to get her way. But the following video is not about Servalan (not to worry, she will make an appeareance soon), but the intrepid band of law-breakers. Below is a fan "re-imagining" of publicity for the final episode, in which pretty much every major character dies on screen - very B7.

Maybe not as thrilling to most of you as I know it will be for some, so for the thrill junkies, here's the trailer for the modern remake of V. It also has Enara from Firefly in it, in case you care.

Now, so you don't think I'm a complete geek with no life away from my toy phaser, here's some cool music. What could be further from Sci-Fi than 80's ska?

See? I can hang with the cool kids. Even if they are from twenty years ago, haven't you heard that retro is in...?

Remember, Remember

A great British tradition occurs on the 5th of November. People get together and burn an effigy atop a blazing pyre, while fireworks are lit and enjoyed by the spectators, all of whom have decided to brave the cold and harsh conditions of our little island's climate. The occasion? We commemorate the actions of the man pictured to the left: Guy Fawkes.

To briefly summarise, Guy and a few of his friends attempted the most anti-establishment gesture short of assassinating the King himself. Over the autumn of 1605, the associates planned to smuggle gunpowder into the cellars of the Houses of Parliament in London, with the intention of setting it alight and destroying the building during its annual State Opening - an event at which, incidentally, His Majesty King James would be attending. Guy was nominated to set the whole thing off, and on the night of the 4th of November, he was found checking the stores of gunpowder and duly arrested for conpiracy to treason. The authorities had been tipped off anonymously and anticipated the attack.

Guy and his pals were not simply anarchists. Their plot was a daring and open statement of discontent on the part of English Catholics, who were at the time being badly mistreated by the State. The issue of Catholic vs Anglican Rule in England (and Scotland) had been a major one ever since the Reformation (started in England, by the way, so that Henry VIII could dump his frumpy first wife and get his end away with a buxom young Anne Boleyn). Elizabeth I had tried to lessen the tensions between Papists and Protestants over the course of her reign, but when she promoted her cousin James by dying without issue and leaving him England's crown (a move which niftily united Scotland's realm with England), Parliament took greater control over official religous affairs and pursued a virulently anti-Catholic campaign.

If at this stage, you're reading this, and thinking "hang on a minute: a member of a group of disillusioned individuals, attempting to kill people in a bombastic manner in aid of a cause: doesn't that make this Guy guy a terrorist?", you'd be absolutely correct; and we commemorate him!

To be honest, how one takes the celebration is pretty much dependent on one's politics. The official source of festivity - if there is any - is that the plot failed, the King was saved, and the status quo remained just that. As time has passed, and trust in those at the top has been abused and lost, many may say that the event is in memory of the attempt itself, and what it means for the people. Sure, Fawkes was a terrorist in the strictest sense of the word, but so what? He and his group believed what was happening was unfair, and they went out to make a statement to those who were the cause of their grief: no innocents sat in either of the Houses of Parliament, nor do any now. It would hardly be a lie to say that much of the country's woes can be laid squarely at the door of the government. In fact, extend that statement to all those who hold the power of freedom and imprisonment, of life and death, over us and you realise that it still applies.

One year ago, we were all hungover from the heady excitement of a certain promise of change which has yet to be visibly delivered. Now, of course change takes time, but perhaps those at the very top ought to remember the 5th of November as more than just a quirky little British holiday. After all, once something has been done, it's an idea which can be repeated over centuries...

Remember, Remember.
The 5th of November.
The gunpowder and treason plot.
I see no reason
Why treason
Should ever be forgot.

"Metamorphosis" Extract (from "Stalemate")

Stuart: “‘What's happened to me?’ he thought. It wasn't a dream. His room, a proper human room although a little too small, lay peacefully between its four familiar walls.”

MELANIE returns, and cleans up the mess around STUART, as he continues to read.

Stuart: “A collection of textile samples lay spread out on the table - Samsa was a travelling salesman - and above it there hung a picture that he had recently cut out of an illustrated magazine and housed in a nice, gilded frame.”

MELANIE leaves with the rubbish.

Stuart: “It showed a lady fitted out with a fur hat and fur boa who sat upright, raising a heavy fur muff that covered the whole of her lower arm towards the viewer.”

MELANIE enters again, carrying another tray of food. She speaks to him as if nothing has happened.

Melanie: (Smiling) Mm! Yummy, yummy!
Stuart: (Shocked) Very good.
Melanie: (Patronising) As if I don’t know you.
Stuart: I’m almost impressed.
Melanie: I’m not even hungry, tonight.
Stuart: I’ll only do it again.
Melanie: Oh, you. No, you won’t. Do you know why?
Stuart: Why?
Melanie: Because you’re not that dull. I’ll only expect you to do it, and what would that achieve?
Stuart: Fair enough.
Melanie: That’s the problem with little triumphs. They never last. You have to be patient for proper prizes. I’m a very patient person. You, unfortunately, are not.

Beat.

Melanie: Eat up! (STUART begins eating. MELANIE stands behind his chair and leans in to his ear) That’s right. All in the mouth. Mm, mm, mm. Do you like it? Do you? Munching away? Munch, munch, munch. Yum! Is it yummy? Is it? Is it yummy, yummy, yum-yum? Does it even taste of anything?
Stuart: Your filthy hands.
Melanie: Ah, ah! Politely, please.
Stuart: (Swallowing) It tastes lovely.

At least no-one can say I'm not working on it...

This Week I Have Mainly Been...

...Bloody Busy!

Who'd have thought a mere seven days could be stuffed full with so much activity? I've been doing so much, I'm still writing on the blog when it's technically next week. I haven't even finished for the night!

Now, you may recall I decided to retire from the blog for a week, mainly in order to learn lines and dedicate some more time to studying. You may also recall that I was intending to finish my play in time for the self-imposed deadline of yesterday. Well, two out of three ain't so bad, right?

In fact, I've only really managed one of those three goals. Since I had more time to twiddle my thumbs, I spent it flicking through books and literary journals. While my line-learning got off to a shaky start. The most frustrating non-starter is the play, though. If I want to sound technical and artistic about it all, I've been writing it since the end of February this year. I then put it off for a number of months until the summer, when I was then too busy working and partying to write, even though it was hovering about in my mind. When I got back to the UK, I thought I'd give myself an impetus by arranging a rehearsed reading, free of charge, after which the audience woud be able to give me feedback if they so desired. The rehearsed reading is on the 24th of November; two days before my birthday, three days after a five-night run of performances. It is now the 2nd of November, and I'm under a third of the way through the first draft. I've now had to extend my self-imposed deadline to the 15th, and hand out the first draft to the actors, while I make my revisions for the second draft over rehearsals. Not good.

To make it worse, I've just finished drawing up my plans and appointments for this coming week. It looks like I'm going to be busier than last week. So much for wrapping it all up, now.

Anyway, here's a scene from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, to make us all feel better.

See you next week, I suppose.

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Clips, Music, Miscellany from Everybody's Favourite Tube (or Dailymotion, if I'm desperate)

This Week: Quack Doctors, Racism, and Effeminate Children

Picture the scene. I've just been diagnosed with something horrible. Maybe even fatal. Modern science and medicine has yet to find a cure, but I have heard of an alternative. Homeopathy promises to find a solution when Science is left scratching its head, and all by diluting herbs and weeds - or whatever - with water and handing it to you in a little vial. Apparently, these people have never heard of the word "bullshit". However, listening to some homeopath "doctor" explain how this pseudo-science is inextricably linked with the makeup of the universe is highly entertaining. I was terrible at science at school, but even I know you couldn't peddle this out to a bunch of ten-year-olds and get away with it.

Yes, dear. I can see how removing a multiple of Einstein's theory of relativity makes it all so much more understandable. Anyway, I suppose if you put anything in front of an amount of people who will accept it is fair game. I stumbled across this advert for Jell-O from the 1960s. The 1960s, the year of social revolution. Not content with the exploitation, they thought they'd rub it in with a bit of stereotype propagation. Anyone for some glapes?

And yet that ad campaign went on and on for quite a while without anyone thinking it might have been just a tiny bit offensive. At least when you do satire playing with potentially offensive material is part of the process of intelligent debate on issues. Often, though, it is just funny. The Onion has been ripping it out of American politics and society "since 1896". In a grumpy, anti-holiday mood which routinely grips me, especially when Halloween rears its ugly, costumed head, I found solace from this video trotted out by thier YouTube channel. If you do get offended, you don't get it. Simple as.

BONUS VIDEO: Since I reached three clips and realised I'd forgotten to include a music video, here's George Michael. Because I love him.

See? I'm not homophobic. Some of my best music...

Labouring the Point

Oh dear. Things have not been going well for the government, this week. Which must be pretty bad news, considering that Gordon Brown has been the most consistently miserable Prime Minister of Great Britain and Northern Ireland since Neville Chamberlain (deservedly, I might add).

It is at both amusing and distressing to watch the downfall of New Labour. Like a train wreck or a car accident, you know you shouldn't watch, but you find yourself strangely compelled - and maybe even a little aroused - by the whole mess, even as it escalates into an even more bloody mess. If that wasn't morbid enough, I have also found myself likening the fate of the government with that of an old and unloved family-member, removed to a hospice, waiting to die, yet still refusing to go.

If the Labour Party is a sick old man, poor Gordon must be the epitome of a deluded and ailing sufferer of some degenerative disease on his last legs. Frustrated, incoherent, clearly in excrutiating pain and a danger to himself and others, one feels one ought to put him out of his misery by just switching him off. As if the Financial crisis, the MPs' expenses scandal, and generally being disliked (at best) by the British Public wasn't bad enough, he's had to face the prospect of former lover Tony Blair becoming President of the European Council as well as being rubbished by an expert adivser on one of the few recent New Labour policies he can truly call his own.

Having said all of this, I don't feel the slightest bit sorry for the government. Ever since they began to stray from their interest in the public good (listen to me; I'm talking about a political party as if such an establishment has ever existed for the sake of the public good), New Labour have proven themselves to be inadequate for government. David Nutt was only repeating his expert opinion, which he was asked for, right before being sacked for his views not towing the party line. If, after such an insult, he feels the need to continue to broadcast his stance on the issues, then good on him. And as for Blair: his lust for power is hardly surprising, considering towards the end of his premiership, his leadership was looking more like a presidency than a  ministerial role within a constitutional (albeit unwritten) monarchy. As one political commentator put it, "we have a Prime Minister we didn't vote for, we might as well have a President we didn't vote for, either." Although it looked like he was a shoe-in for a job which is still yet to be created, there is a chance he won't bother, now that other European leaders have criticisied the idea.

Of course, the fact that the British public - that is, those who share their nationality with and of whom Mr Blair was leader for ten years - opposed the idea of him going into Brussels as President, and would prefer him going to The Hague is of no consequence whatsoever. Like I said, since when did Politics have anything to do with what the people want?

Long live Democracy!

Why I Love Jazz

My dad is a musician - or, rather, he was a musician; he hasn't worked for years. But that's another story. The point is, I grew up subjected to almost everything, from Bach to the Beatles.

What really caught my ear, though, was a particular voice, rising over the music like a bird set free. I remember asking my dad who she was, and he told me she was one of the greatest Jazz singers around: at the time, Ella Fitzgerald (pictured, left) was still alive.

Ella - whose voice still captures me - opened the door to a world of female vocalists of the 30s, 40s, 50s and 60s, expecially Sarah Vaughn, Billie Holiday and Nina Simone. It would be fair to say that female Jazz vocalists are probably the only women I'll ever fall in love with. There is something so magical about listening to them: a mixture of joy and pain, both haunting and jovial, their voices tell the story of Jazz, their lives and our own.

Of course, the singers are just one component of Jazz. Let's not forget the composers and performers, many of whom were both, as well as singers, and made prominent manes for themselves. As Stevie Wonder sings in his homage to these greats, "There's Basie, Miller, Satchmo (Louis Armstrong), and the king of them all, Sir Duke." But plenty others from that time and beyond belong to the Jazz Hall of Fame: Miles Davis, Quincy Jones, Wynton Marsalis, Courtney Pine, John Coltrane, Dr. John, Ray Charles and Nat King Cole.

What so many people who enjoy modern music fail to realise is how much Jazz was an influence of other musical trends, both surging at the same time Jazz became popular, as later movements. From Blues, Swing and Big Band, to Funk, Soul, Disco, Hip-Hop and R 'n' B - even Ska and Reggae - Jazz can be found at the root of them all. Name any artist or group who fall into that genre, and you can be certain one of their inspirtations will be a Jazz musician, artist or singer. You can't escape Jazz.

Who would want to? With its pulsation, intelligent use of musical phrasing and key change, it is an intimate, animalistic inducer. No wonder the Nazis called it "degenerate"! Too right: give me "It Don't Mean a Thing" over "The Merry Widow" any day.

I could go on and on about Jazz and how fun, enjoyable, musically perfect, and how cool it is, but I'd bore you. I don't even know that much about it. Better for you to listen and discover all of this for yourself.

That is why I love Jazz.

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I've just drawn up my plans for this week, and boy am I going to be busy! The first draft of Stalemate needs to be complete and sent off by the end of this week, I have quite a bit of university reading and study to catch up on, and I need to get on the case with preparing for the show I'll be performing in three weeks. All this means that I'll be missing from the internet for a while; but fear not, I shall return on Sunday with a detailed and comprehensive report on life, the universe and everything.

Until then, take care, my darlings.