Made in the 80's

It lives.. Over a year later, but the need to rant returned with the dark day that rained down upon New Zealand. That's right. The day that the All Blacks lost their quarter final match in the Rugby World Cup.

A dark day indeed.

What was truly remarkable, however, about this dark turn of events is that the NZ public didn't suddenly turn into rabid dogs and try tearing the poor boys apart.. By jove, I think we may have matured as a nation. Or at least the general public has - the media seem just as childish as ever.

On a completely different note it's come to my attention that Printmaking is the worst form of art ever. EVER I say. I shall never, ever be inclined to go near the damn branch of that particular tree for the rest of my days as a cranky art student.

Thus, I feel I needed a little bit of cheering up.. And so.. What can do the job better than Flight of the Conchords.. Really?





 

Second post of the day.. I really really need a life.

Anyway, last Thursday me and a few buddies headed out to see INXS whilst they made their pit-stop in Christchurch.

- Here It Goes Again, OK Go.

.. Cause I seem to be on a video-posting tangent of late and I can't get enough of this video.. It makes me giggle like a school-girl. 

..PrettyprettyOhsoPretty... Must.. get.. to .. Juke Kartel. =/

Translation: Mr. Toby Rand performing his original song Throw It Away on Wk10 of Rockstar Supernova. Why? Cause I can. (And cause his band Juke Kartel, are sofrigginhawt.)

Phil Ritchie of RS:Supernova with his band Lennex.

..Because I can.

Juke Kartel own.

..Yes, Dead Man's Chest was that damn cool. 

It opened here on Thursday, I attended sessions on both Thursday and Friday, swooned admirably both times that Norrington made his stellar entrance and generally laughed my bloody ass off. The infamous water-wheel sword fight was just plain amazing and so damn hilarious I nearly fell out of my seat (a difficulty considering the new luxury seats they've constructed at the resident movie theaters.) Won't throw any spoilers into the fray here, because really, I'm not that damn cruel. Let's just say it was absolute love and my surge of admiration for Norrington tripled, quadrupled and then sky-rocketed.. Though I'm expecting a back-lash of hatred for the poor fellow. -grins- 

Thus came the ficlet ; a Norrington piece based in one of the early scenes of the movie that bears the title; The Dark Side of Ambition, in accordance with a Sparrow quote later in the movie. I really should have been concentrating my efforts on the elusive Chapter 31 of Chasing the Dragon, but.. Indulge me. The Norrington was rather insistent that I stick up for him.. Poor wee soul. Contains few plot spoilers but considerably larger ones for the state of Norrington's character in the movie. I might eventually post it here.. When I get around to it.. 

Sigh .. Pirates.

(Icon, once again, courtesy of But Why Is The Rum Gone?)

The waiting is almost over..

Oh god - oh god I'm DOWN TO ONE HAND. 

I can count the number of days until Pirates of the Carribean: Dead Man's Chest on one bloody hand! After three years of whimpering, obsessive tendencies and sighing besottedly every bloody time I watched Curse of the Black Pearl it's almost here. I can barely stop the squeeing.

Yumm.. Johnny Depp's and Jack Davenport's and Orlando Bloom's.. Oh my. 

On that note I'd like to direct some crediting love to the magic workers at But Why Is The Rum Gone? for two gorgeous Jack icons (including this one) that I totally pawned. Honestly.. Go look. Be amazed, they're biyuutiful.

Mmm, Jack Fever is upon us friends. Be wary, very very wary.

According to my horoscope today is the day that I'll be able to complete a "creative project I've been working on." Now, I usually don't buy into star-signs and all that astrology-bullshit but hey, if the stars say that I can finally finish writing this bloody chapter of Chasing the Dragon then who am I to complain?

Wish me luck, I somehow think I'll need it.

On a side note: I've decided that when I turn to going back and editing all my earlier chapters of Chasing the Dragon that I'll post them in turn here - that way it might actually motivate me into fan-arting some and giving the project at least a little bit of an artistic boost.

"Sé mo laoch, mo Ghile Mear,
Sé mo Chaesar Gile Mear.
Suan ná séan ní bhfuaireas féin;
O chuaigh i gcéin mo Ghile Mear.."
- Mo Ghile Mear (Our Hero)



  
BO'D Fever has hit home again bringing with it all the giddy-goop of a school-girl crush and full-on swooning fits. Not only have I completely surcumb to a particularly tenacious strain, it seems particularly reluctant to let me go this time.. 

Confused? How about I clear up the finer details of this pretty little disease..



Symptoms of BO'D Fever Include: Euphoria, Swooning Fits, Love-sick sighing, Poetic ramblings, Loss of voice, Squee-ing, Drooling, Stuttering and all manner of Fangirl-ish behaviour.

Alright, so that could be any teenaged girl with a crush, right? 
So how do you really know you've got BO'D fever?
 ..You take the definitive (-snort-) BO'D-Fever test of course.

..Pointless, but fun.. And look, you made Brian and Gordon so damn happy!

Snow bathing? ..Yeah, that deck-chairs gonna get *lots* of use.

Oh how I do love a good snow day - for some reason they always prove to spur on the creative juices if mixed just right. 
Todays Mixer: A Jim Morrison Marathon. 
Thank BO'D for The Doors.

Take heed, the following post is a creation born of infatuation, three kinds of ridiculousness and a healthy dashing of BOD-fever. If you endeavour to take this seriously,  you will fail spectacularly.

Here follows a story of passion and intrigue, of rugby and men in little white shorts. It's a story that begins with a man, a man in a green-shirt. A green man, who is not green, but in fact a perfectly natural (if somewhat pale) shade of skinnish-colouring.  A man who is pretty. Yes, very pretty. A man oft referred to as God, and is about as close as one can get to divinity on a Rugby field. This is a story of me, my infatuation and this man, sometimes referred to as God (and oft times as BOD, Drico and all manner of silly nicknames.) and the beginnings of my unhealthy obsession with said man.

*snort* I'm such a big geek. I may finish writing this juicy little piece of ridiculousness tommorrow. At present I'll revel in just how dorky I can be when I put my mind to it.

.. If you start me up I'll never stop.

It's that simple really, the second that my media player skips onto that song, I cannot stop playing it. It means, that quite frankly, I'm done for the night. What it also means is that I'm in for one hell of a writing marathon, which really means that that song is my secret weapon. Who needs a muse when you've got images of Jagger sashaying around in skin-tight white jeans? If nothing else it'll scare the muses into submission.

I swear, if there was one song in the world that I could keep forever-and-ever-and-ever and never have to stop playing - this would be it. Once a Start Me Up marathon starts.. Well, (no pun intended) but it never stops.

All I can say is that my writers block has nothing on this song =P

To be entirely truthful I'm neither, but that's not the point.
My mind is driving me insane.. or rather, my mind is insane and is proceeding to drive the rest of me to distraction. I am being pelted relentlessly by all manner of Plot-Bunnies but find myself unable to write anything without getting distracted. 
This I amount to my sudden immersement in fandoms where there is very little writing of the caliber or genre that I want and copious amounts of writing of the caliber and genre that I despise. Go figure.
In short, I'm annoyed, bordering on violent and very, very ADD.

Am having a creative burst all of a sudden - though unfortunately it tends in a direction that is entirely opposite to what I would wish. Instead of a stirring of encouragement towards the next chapter of Chasing the Dragon (the mammoth YGO/HP crossover-demon that I am determined to finish promptly but is proving to be an elusive and taunting beast.) I was hit by a sudden need to revamp a fic that never made it passed it's opening chapter (I imagine with good reason.) 
The fic in question was a Fushigi Yuugi, Jane Austen-inspired Romance that bears the terrible title of, "I'm not in love." It has sat in a stale state of discontinuation for almost (probably more than) two years. Should I fail to escape the haze that insists that I do something about fixing it, the title would be the first thing to go. Though quickly followed by a thorough revamping of the monstrous opening chapter and a reassessment of what I actually wished to do with the story. 
All of this should be irrelevant, I don't actually want to focus on producing another burden on my mind - not with the absurd things that are coming with CtD. 
I think I'll experiment and see where this muse takes me, at worst I can leave that pleasant 'discontinued' sign in place until I feel the need to take the story up again.  Yes.. That'll do.
-grins- Oh dear, I think I've hit upon something that is very much threatening to take over the whole of my attention.
Now I really wish I had gone out tonight.. I think I'm gonna pout.
Presenting the prologue to what will be the revamped and revitalised "I'm not in love," which now sports the working title of, "Seven Deadly Sins." .. Dear dear.

Through some energetic, stupid or quite possibly drunken (definitely tipsy)  fervor I find myself with a journal to my name. I'm not entirely sure how it came about and I'm fairly sure that there is going to be a great deal of ranting involved. 

Is this a good thing?  Most probably not. 

But I digress, a journal I now have and shall now keep.. With any luck.

I write. It's a nasty habit that I've carried for far too long to kick. It is mostly of a fannish-persuasion, which ensures that while I may torture other peoples characters, those of my own creation don't get half as much grief. (Poor things). The method to my madness (or madness to my method, haven't quite decided which yet.) generally has very little method and a great deal of madness. Writing comes upon me in the most merciless of external forces and is very rarely set down by mere trifles such as plans.  Naturally this means that I am hardly to be held accountable for what is produced, if an external force is enforcing the habit than I must be blameless. It really is a nasty habit. 
I paint. It's a passion that I could not and would not live without. I cannot pass a blank canvas without encountering the violent niggling that insists that I do something about it. If ignored the niggling transcends to gloominess which inevitably fuels snarkiness which results in a terribly bad temper. In short: It ain't pretty. 
I rant. Frequently and violently. 
My muse is music. The right song is a savage and snarling beast that serves as the most grueling task-master once could ever encounter. Good music is the one thing in the world that I would  be entirely broken without. I am a true Rock-addict. The fire burns in me.. And anything that can draw passion freely from a cynical, snarky creature such as myself deserves all the credit it can get. My Patron Gods of Rock'n'Roll have gotten me through many a dreary day.

Dont be fooled (or frightened); my personality is liable to jump through a succession of rapid and noticeable changes from day to day (minute to minute.) In a couple of minutes I'm more than likely to be expressing my concerns over the availibility of suction cups.


Drunkeness or Stupidity? ..Not a bloody clue.