These are odd times. In a bout of the brutally ironic – or for the ego’s sake the poetic – one of only two posts my mewling malnourished mind has managed to conjure this year has been taken down. Now this isn’t because of the inter-governmental file snooping I’m partial to indulge in before promptly fleeing to some obscure Central American nubbin on the face of the world…in London. You idiot. No, it’s merely because I’m such an in-demand, talented and downright fabulous jurnalizt.
So anyway, my little review is all grown up and has moved on to greener, more likeable and far more respectable pastures *sniff*. Check it out on Impact’s (The University of Nottingham’s official magazine) website:
But wait, there’s more! Not only do you get one slightly obsolete review of questionable quality you get 2, and this one is a whole 7 years out-of-date! You lucky dickens’. Check out the re-review (because that’s a thing) of Batman Begins:
And now to that long overdue apology…
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| Sheepish grin. D'yagetit? |
I joked on the first post of this year (of 2…oops) out that I’d most likely not re-post until I returned from my American crusade in May, guffawing heartily at how lazy one must be to not write 500 squirming words from time to time while a prisoner of the land of the free. It’s September now. I know myself too well clearly and so in the spirit of triumphant returns – as this post shall eagerly snoot about – let’s open proceedings with a spot of useless rumination.
Isn’t it odd how ‘knowing one’s self’ is culturally seen as a bad thing? Case Study: Someone – an old friend or relative - puts his or her car keys in the fridge. You look at them, a mixture of wonderment and worry, curious as to their odd behavior yet concerned; maybe Auntie Mable is finally losing it? They see your contorted face, a battle between human ignorance and good old British manners, a hereditary passiveness that demands the acceptance of idiosyncratic quirks; God forbid we should actually have to talk to someone. Turning to you they smile, sad little crinkles forming beneath their eyes: ‘I’ll only forget them, so I put them on top of me morning grapefruit,’ they say through a forlorn sigh, ‘I know myself too well see.’
This is silly. In what backwards land can knowing yourself be anything but a good thing, a veritable indication of basic sanity. Can you imagine a world where people didn’t know themselves? Every conversation would be like dancing with the Riddler: ‘What’s your name?’, ‘What is my name?’, ’Do you like beans?’, ’Do I like beans?’ And so on ad infinitum. In fact, I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say the world would debase to a dystopian ooze, masses of confused fools fighting equally condemned souls, vestibules of confusion and fear as they question who they are and what everything means, too ignorant to listen both to themselves and to each other, wrapped up in warfare the birth of which no one can remember. Oh…wait.
It seems, dear readers, that I’ve stumbled across the defining flaw of humanity. Train based daydreaming, it appears, is the nurturing womb for a good old-fashioned Nobel Peace Prize. Unless you happen to be the first black president of some Western power somewhere. Oo satire, it’s all kicking off today!
Now wasn’t that fun? Don’t you feel mentally nourished? All warm and comfy and safe like a hug from your mother or a bed of freshly made, fluffy, light buttermilk pancakes. Good. You deserve it. You’re all wonderful.
True to form I’ve accomplished nothing that I originally intended to do. C’est la vie. This was supposed to be breakneck, whistle-stop, rollercoaster blast through the thunderous highs and lows of my American Adventure. A regaling of my trips to the Big Apple and D.C., my duet with Elvis, wrestling with King Kong, finding Amelia Earhart, blowing the lid on Roswell and many other things that almost definitely happened. But you can wait a week right? Because I have a plan. A pledge to you mysterious few who keep on reading this erroneous mole on the derriere of the Internet. Hence forth, and for as long as I remember, I will be posting weekly succinct updates to distract you from the more important things in life. This week was warm piece of apple pie from the brain; next week will be a falcon punch to the nads.
Have a laugh with something that's probably psychologically enlightening:
As a final note, please follow me on Twitter: @smariman. You'll get told of updates and new posts as soon as they happen as well as the odd desperate attempt at being funny, entertaining and likeable. Such is life.
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