Hello Again! Books, books, books, Garp!

Me, greeting you all:

Well everyone, I'm back! I've been back ages now but I've been on blogging holiday as well as actual holliers.

Now, where did I leave off...

No idea. Anybody? Oh well.

Books! I've not been writing, but I can't say the same about reading. I've been devouring lumps of books at home and away, and struggling to make myself stop staring at paperbacks all day. In England I read The World According To Garp by John Irving, which definitely goes on my top fave books of all time. Not to mention inspiration for wanting to write! It's about Garp, who has always wanted to be a writer, his life and such, so a lot of the text talks about churning out novels, short stories, and a writer's life in general. I have never really read a novel about writing novels, but what better book for silly little me? The little lassie who buries her head in books all day and wants to write for living (yes I know I need a steady job mom, yes, yes, I will, I promise... *sigh*). Anyway, after reading Garp and never wanting to put it down, but having to reluctantly because it's time to go see Big Ben or something, I want a typewriter so bad. No kidding, I really want one. I used to have one when I was little but I foolishly gave it away. Now I wanna write novels on a typewriter all the time.

There was one line in Garp that had an impact on me. He was talking about a character who is one of those people who just don't finish things. Y'know, they start loads of new projects, but never ever persevere until the end. We all know someone like that (some silly little ladies are like that too...). So Garp comes out with this: "You only grow by coming to the end of something and by beginning something else." His point is, if you wanna be a novelist, you have to strive for an ending, as much as you enjoy the process, the middle, the start, you have to live for the end, and let that drive you. Novelists want to finish, so they can finish their next. For someone who has a nasty little habit of being interested in everything, therefore starting everything, not having enough time, and finishing nothing, it made me think. If you restart and restart, each time coming up with a better beginning, what happens after that? Say you have the ultimate start, after so much practise, and then what? You never practised the middle, maintaining the plot, developing the characters, tying up the plot, and the most important bit, the end. Isn't it better to churn out a non-masterpiece novel so you can grow and learn from it, rather than never coming to an end?

Aaaaaanyway, in conclusion, The World According To Garp has definitely been my favourite book this summer. As much as I loved Wild Swans, and as much as I enjoyed English Passengers. Not that I'm finished reading for the summer, or anything. I'm nearing the end of the Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell trilogy by Susanna Clarke, and I have enjoyed it but I really think they are dragging their feet nearer the end. I mean I just want the plot to wrap up already, it's getting stale. Clarke could have easily, and should have ended the book at least 100 pages earlier than she did.

In other news:

I'm still trying to find the balance between reading, portfolio (to get into an animation course), bass, chores, teaching my little sis piano, and y'know, seeing people. There really aren't enough hours. Please. Please increase the hours. I beg.

And I'm gone vegan, so there's quick and easy meals out the window. It's not half as hard as I expected though, I only am very apologetic to, and sorry for, anybody who has me over on a regular basis... Pizza without cheese here I come, even if it is an abominable idea, it'd probably still be tasty. I'll never touch raisins though, that'd be criminal. I had to touch one the other day to remove it from the top of the toaster (cinnamon and raisin bagels, yuck) and I nearly died. It was horrif.

Over and out.

P.S. Back to my normal every other day blogging routine, until school starts... ugh... school...

I'm Off To England, and a Review of English Passengers!

Last post before England! As le boif keeps reminding me. I'm still struggling to heal myself of this fun-filled cough, before I away, but time is running slim. And yes, I'll be a good girl and do as granddad tells me: "be careful of pickpockets, they're rampant there" (in London). It's such a hassle changing currency. "That's why we have the Euro" yeah, I know, I know. But I'm just moaning, I'm not for us little Irish having Euro really. Being a part of the EU, sure, but the Euro is a bit much. Saying that, do they make wallets bigger in the UK? The feckin' £20 notes barely fit in mine. Pickpockets, come at me bro. Even before my granddad's warning, I was already expecting thieving folk, I mean, I've seen Oliver. It's not like England has changed since then or anything... In fairness, the accent hasn't. As I've said before though, I'm a sucker for an English accent, so I'm not complaining. As long as my Irish little self doesn't go around bursting into fits of giggles every time anyone speaks... It's such a funny accent like... Le boif will have to control me, if I can't manage to restrain. That, or make some sort of excuse that I've got an illness, or a mental disorder or something. You can't blame me like. For a silly little lady who thinks accents are hilarious to go somewhere foreign, what do you expect me to do?

Anyway, I finished reading English Passengers by Matthew Kneale today (I was determined to get it done before England). I have to say I thoroughly enjoyed it. I loved the mixed narrative and hearing all the different accounts of things; it kept it interesting, even past the plot, as the book, in my opinion, is all about the characters. Whether you love them or hate them (mostly the latter), it's very entertaining to read. The plot was interesting itself, what with its close association to the truth, but what I probably enjoyed the most, apart from the very unique, polarised characters, was the way in which Kneale connected everything. You know from the beginning it's gonna happen, but it's just the way he ties it all up in a ribbon, the perfect linking up of characters, plots etc. It actually made me say "aahhhhhh!" out loud a couple of time, in a 'that's how it relates' type of way. The story unfolds very neatly, no strings left untied, and by the time you're finished, you're at peace with it all, everything making perfect sense. All in all it was a very cleverly written novel. Very quick and witty. There were a couple of small parts where I lost enthusiasm slightly, and read less, but these were very slight, and towards the end, after reading 50 pages, you barely notice and you want more.

I'd say my favourite character was Renshaw, which I felt I sadly didn't get to hear enough of. However, my favourite narrator would have to be (after a lot of thought) Reverend Wilson, because (no spoilers, I promise) the way he put things is just fantastic. Not the English he used, just his way of looking at and thinking of things. He has an amazing talent for making something so ordinary out as something extraordinary (you could argue it's a religious thing, but to a point; Wilson is way past that point). For anyone reading this, who hasn't read English Passengers, I'm flattered, but I'd strongly advise you to read it.

Mainly, to summarise, I'd have to say it's a story about a journey, while there is a more exact plot, it's the journey that steals the show, and within the journey, the mixing of characters, that often would usually never mix by both choice and lack of opportunity shines though. I'm a sucker for good solid characters, even more so than for a good solid plot, and this book didn't fail to deliver. I may sing praises, but trust me. Or don't. Either way, read the book.

Team America, or Should I Say Team Stupid (My least Favourite Movie)

Today, as you can see from the title, I've decided to share with you all what I think is the worst movie ever. Now I'm a silly little lady, so anybody who assumes Team America is too silly for me may assume again. If you knew me, and knew my choice in boyfriend, you'd understand that I have nothing against ridiculously silly. But just plain stupid is a whole other story.

Let me give you a brief synopsis of the plot of the movie. Team America: World Police is "an American satirical action comedy film" which centres around the lives of these purposefully stupid and badly worked puppets. The director and writers of this film are also responsible for the series South Park, which is a bit more bearable. It basically takes the mickey out of high-budget action films, and plays up stereotypes, and clichés for giggles. I never thought I could hate anything so much, even though I don't mind that type of satire. In essence, it's all about Team America, a sort of police force who employ an actor to help them take down Kim Jong-il.

Now let me tell you why I was forced to sit through this garbage. It was le boif's birthday, last summer, and he had a little get together with some friends. It was winding down time (in other words, movie time) and everyone gathered around the TV, allowing the birthday boy to choose his flick. You get the picture... To my horror, every terribly stupid (stupid being the optimum word to describe this movie) joke or badly worked puppet scene had le boif and his bromantic friend in stitches, while all I could manage was to stifle a growl. The look on my face during this abomination was one of such fury and despair that le boif thought I was angry at him, and I couldn't even manage to speak from the shock. And now my explanation and slating begins...

Firstly, I didn't even know if I could bring myself to share any links from this movie, as the language is so vile and so is everything else, but I will share a couple to illustrate my point: this movie sucks.

Let's take these video as examples. What even is there to say?

The first video: So much disgusting, so much lowbrow, very stupid, so damn much stupid. And it takes so long too. Good Jesus. Help me. It physically injured my soul. How is this funny? Why must they hurt me like this? The prolonged horror is just... What? How?

The second video: Even worse that the first. Nothing even happens! Yes they make fun of the "here's the offer, and here's the door" choice where everyone chooses the offer, but it doesn't work! Just because you mix it up doesn't mean it's good! I know, I know, "it's satire, it's supposed to be stupid, that's the point", but people actually find this funny. That's what confounds me. It's so painfully bland and tasteless. How can boring and bland be entertaining? And the vast majority of the movie is like this.

I'll share with you one more video, that's the intro to the movie, and it illustrates my annoyance in regards to the "puppetry" in the fighting part, and the lame, unintelligent, trying so hard to be witty, and to show off a shoddy budget ($32 million to be exact, don't ask me how they managed to spend all that, or where it's all gone to). The entire thing is a masterpiece of abhorrence. It's genius at its best, and by genius I mean idiocy, and by best I mean worst.

Enjoy! And pity past me for having to sit through hours of this nonsense.

Disaster, Cute Couple Time, Common Sense and General Knowledge

Home at last! But not without calamity!

My mother broke her finger in a foreign land and has been flitting from doctor to doctor in search of adequate medical attention ever since. Also, my state of sanity is being tested by the scorcher of a day it is turning out to be. Not to mention I left my phone in le boif's car, and feel naked without it.

Regardless, the weekend came to a close on a positive note for me, myself and I.

Yesterday I had a very cute couple-y day, consisting of painfully giggly giggles, us two goggly glasses teens reading our books together like old age pensioner married couples, coffee, flicking through guitar, bass, Beatles and album cover books, and cinnamon buns.

Now, my boif ain't known for his common sense, but it's a whole 'nother story when you end up in his neck of the woods, topic-wise. He may have trouble applying butter to a slice of bread, or even toast for that matter, but ask him the year >insert name of some guitar< came about, who played it, and ask him to draw it and you'll find he's more than capable to make you feel like you're the one lacking in common sense. I'm not complaining, I find it quite an endearing thing. I'm aware of my lack of knowledge in the matter, and especially because of that I love to hear someone chat knowledgeably in their niche that is so foreign to my ears. To me, it's fascinating to hear le boif recite a load of specifics, and years of albums, makes/models and artists, that even if I read 10 books on each, from cover to cover, I wouldn't know a single solid fact, never mind any dates or years. But I guess that's the way my head works.

While le boif lacks common sense, I lack general knowledge. Don't ask me who Rolf Harris is, I couldn't point Alex Turner from the Arctic Monkeys out of a line up, despite the fact that I love them (I barely even know the lead singer's name), but I could recite whole script (or at least whole scenes) from Anchorman, Napoleon Dynamite or The Breakfast Club, and I'm quite adequate at solving equations, if I do say so myself.

I guess oddballs fall for adorable fellow oddballs; I'm not complaining.

Whilst looking through/looking at the pictures of the book Fab Gear, a very unexpectedly large book about the clothing of The Beatles, I began wondering how the authors could possibly fill a whole book with descriptions and such of the clothes, when all you need are the pictures. So I ventured into the dangerously comical world of reading the descriptions of each photo, and I was not disappointed. The analyses were splendidly hyperbolic and melodramatic, to the point of inducing stitches of laughter in both myself and my other, nearly wakening the entire household.

(All doodles are courtesy of le boif, thanks for that!)

It's Summer! Books! Wild Swans Review! China! But oh... storms...

Yes, it's here at last folks! And no more whining about school bothers shall I partake in, at least for 2 months. Although the weather in Ireland hasn't fully copped on to the fact that it's actually summer for the next couple months, I am enjoying the surprising (but not surprising for Ireland) contrast between blue skies, warm sunny days, and crazy rain-thunderstorm days in between. And now that it's summer, I have time to do everything! So you'd think anyway...

In reality, all I want to do is have mo shrón sáite sa leabhair i gcónaí (or have my nose stuck in books permanently, for the 99% who don't speak Irish). Yep, books, cuddles, and food take up most of my time, but I'm not complaining. Going abroad would also be lovely, but in time, in time. Last night I finished Wild Swans by Jung Chang (FINALLY-it's a big book) and I felt utterly lost and helpless without it. I'll miss the tales of woe, love and determination that permeate the three generations of little Chinese ladies. Despite the long amount of time it took me to read the middle section of that book (when the politics really kicked in), I adored every second of it, even though it deeply saddened and shocked me to hear about the horrific conditions of olden day China. I'll even miss the ridiculous political slogans, all the 'capitalist roaders', 'class enemies', and 'bourgeois' this, that and the other, that were so off the wall and just insane that in the end I couldn't help but laugh at the hypocrisy and mangled logic and sense that a whole country could 'function' under for so many years. That book has brought me many smiles, a handful of tears, and given me a huge insight into China's past, in particular, the first few decades of Communism.

Even after reading it all though, I'm still extremely shocked, and quite outraged that the book is banned in mainland China, even to the present day. I mean, even for a country that has been riddled and ravished with messed up politics, I assumed that in the 21st centrury (nearly 38 years after the death of Mao), complete freedom of speech would be allowed. Especially one so important when it comes to world trade and business. But perhaps my shock is due to lackadaisy Ireland, where practically no books have been banned since 1998. That's one of the reasons I'm glad I live in Ireland, as much as I'd love to see the rest of the world, and one of the reasons I'm so proud to be Irish. I mean Salinger's Catcher In The Rye was banned in 1951, and has since appeared on the Leaving Certificate curriculum, we've developed that much. Now I know it's different with China, because political parties everywhere hate to accept their past mistakes, and Communism is still a thing there, but I am still quite disappointed with the world. So if the banning of one book in China irks me, you can imagine how I feel about North Korea. It vexes me. I'm terribly vexed. [If you didn't get that quote, I shake my head, sigh and strongly advise you to rewatch Gladiator]

As I type, thunder is rumbling so loudly, that some theoretical god must be rearranging whole houses up there, not just the furniture. I've always enjoyed the gentle, boomy lullaby of thunder rolling across the sky, but that loud bout was more like a growl or a full blown roar rather than a lullaby. No doubt my poor grandmother is hiding underneath the sofa or something at this stage, or managed to squeeze herself between the cracks in the floorboards, or has built some sort of makeshift cellar in the past few hours, for urgent shelter safety needs of course. And my mother decided that today of all days she would go for a drive in the countryside, it's not like we live in the countryside already or anything... Anyway, the rain is so bad my internet is flickering, and even the static in the air that calms me during a thunderstorm isn't fully cancelling out my slight nervousness from the violent bursts of sound of electrostatic discharge.

Scrap all that, it's all escalated so quickly that if I didn't know better, I would be completely convinced that multiple explosions had gone off in my back garden. I'm serious! I've never heard or seen anything like this before! I generally love thunderstorms! They actually relax me! And I've only ever seen lightning a handful of times before, all off in the distance, that I had to strain to see, followed minutes later by soft thunder; I mean Ireland is a very safe, uneventful place. But a few minutes ago, my small window was lit up with bright light, which I saw accidentally even while looking at my computer screen, and then the explosion occurred outdoors, making me feel like I'm in a badly written book by the name of How Many Miles To Babylon, or in an even worse film adaptation with a mentally and accent-ly challenged Alec who apparently watches too much Napoleon Dynamite  and was severely influenced by Napoleon's brother Kip.
Link to a clip of Kip (in Napoleon Dynamite)
Link of a clip of Daniel Day-Lewis (in How Many Miles To Babylon) [Even from the first few lines...]

Anyway, I got a bit shaky, and nervy, and went downstairs. I looked out my back window just to check that it was thunder and lightning and not some bloody atomic bomb going off outside. I didn't anticipate to be blinded by a bright light, that must be nearly directly over my house, and at the most 2 seconds later another deafening roll to assault my eardrums. I'm very surprised my electricity is still working, and has only gone off once or twice for a few seconds.

I haven't heard anything in the past few minutes, perhaps it's clearing, or it's the calm before a bigger storm. I hope it's the former, but I'm really enjoying the storm on another level, don't ask me why.

I was planning on learning some French in a little while but after all this commotion perhaps I'll just curl up with another book...