The Libertines – Gunga Din

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I like the new video. The lyrics, as always, play a part in the lives of Peter and Carlos. I mean, simple and plain, yet very them.
Very Pete. And he’s back.

I first heard this track from some live gig a month ago. It’s a lot better on record.

I like Pete’s action in the video as Carlos sings “I’m a bastard in the morning”. They’re family, this bunch of people.

Strangely the sun still shone…

Woke up again
To my chagrin
Getting sick and tired of
Feeling sick and tired again
I tried to write
‘Coz I got the right
To make it look as if
I’m doing something with my life

The entire row of lyric, and don’t forget to click the lyrics that you can get explanations for, e.g. the name “gunga din”. I like Genius a lot.

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Movies I've watched recently:

  • Fifty Shades of Grey (2015) - IMDb 1/10

    2015-07-05 19:25
    *

    Actually, I will start off my review by quoting Anthony Lane's review of this film: "Mostly, he sounds like your basic stalker: “I’m incapable of leaving you alone,” he informs Ana—a notion that appears to stimulate her, although it would easily warrant a call to 911. She succumbs, up to a point, but her recurring doubts lead Christian to dish up one of those crusty old no-means-yes propositions which feminism has battled for decades: “You want to leave? Your body tells me something different.” Pass the butt plug." Indeed. This film is tragic, in a variety of ways, and sexy in none (for me, at least). And probably for a bunch of other people as well, as this film has marked 4.2/10 on IMDb, which is remarkably low. Still, I give this film 1/10 for a variety of reasons. The characters are one-dimensional. The main character is "god" and, because of the book, is never-smiling and drab. I mean, if he'd only have been interesting in some way! He comes across all Bruce Wayne-y, body sculpted, can do everything (fly a helicopter, play the piano, own at least 75 different neckties), but lacks everything that he should have. Compare this with the lead character in Steve McQueen's "Shame": he says very little, but exudes so much, much more than this film collectively ever will. The female lead character is just an object, nothing more. A boring, self-deprecating object with a touch of defiance, only there to display her as an individual, somebody who doesn't let anything happen to her as she's master of her own will. Still, shit like "I'm incapable of leaving you alone" creeps me the hell out, it is _not_ sexy or passionate. It's cheap. And cheapens a lot of things. A lot of people who actually do enjoy BDSM have raised their voices against this film as it's apparently against what is considered safe BDSM use, and goes against more than that. The soundtrack is a safeword in this film; down-watered covers, mainly used to be "sultry" and "sensual", no doubt, but are, in fact, like adding poop to your champagne. Not that this film is champagne in any way, shape or form; champagne is palatable. This film is not. Avoid. There will be sequels. I'll avoid those.

    0.3
  • Johan Falk: Ur askan i elden (Video 2015) -... 1/10

    2015-06-27 07:42
    *

    This was quite the clownboat. I've not seen any previous films from the Johan Falk franchise, but this kind of parted way from the other successful Swedish cop franchise, namely Beck. Here, you'll find more violence. And also a fairly more complex storyline. Having said that, that's all that differs them; the ultra-bad acting is in here, but I must say the characters themselves lack any kind of depth. The Token Female Police is just messy and angry. The Johan Falk character is not only one-dimensional beyond the pale, but extremely simplistic and non-human. The actor, Jakob Eklund, must be a better person than actor; he has to be. It's not the actors' faults, not just; the direction is skint, torpid and fetid; those are difficult words which I just threw out there to make your reading experience more worthwhile than this film, and I know I did it! Avoid. Still, it's fun to laugh _at_.

    0.3
  • While We're Young (2014) - IMDb 3/10

    2015-06-20 20:55
    * * *

    This film irritated and invigorated me. Even though it seems to aspire to a kind of awakening of the mind, by realising that - gasp - what may rejuvenate you is _already_ in your own head, it's kind of an old man's old drag. Michel de Montaigne is the name of a 16th-century philosopher and nobleperson who tried to be a stoic, but who - partly thanks to his cat interrupting his "important work" and partly thanks to his thinking outside the box - realised that life is more than borders that merely serves as a jail. In this film, two aging New Yorkers meet two young New Yorkers; the youngsters make the oldsters feel young, and bang - there's a lot of talk of vinyl, VHS, cassette tapes, black-and-white film, 1970s music, et cetera. Yes, the old seem old, even though the young use old media and somewhat shun Facebook. The ploy that's mostly used, is where Ben Stiller's character attacks the younger guy, who just retorts to silence. And being a bit of an idiot. Still, the best parts of the film? There is but one: to see Ad-Rock live. MC AD-ROCK is alive. Still, that does not make for a film. All in all, go see Kurosawa's "Ikiru" instead.

    0.3
  • Catching Milat (TV Mini-Series 2015) - IMDb 1/10

    2015-06-09 21:05
    *

    This series started out promising, for the first seconds, at least, to then descend into a boring rage of a series. Bad acting, drab series altogether. Even though the film "Wolf Creek" has amped-up action beyond what actually happened, it's worth it, in comparison with this drabfest. Seriously, it's not fun, nor tragic or scary in any sense. There's so much hypertension in this series, consisting of two episodes, that I could cut it with a knife. Blaaargh. Avoid this.

    0.3
  • We Are Still Here (2015) - IMDb 1/10

    2015-06-07 15:11
    *

    This film is pretty straight forward. A family moves into a house and there's something ominous about it; sounds, movement, a cellar where something apparently has gone down some time ago. It started off well. American country roads. Silence. Winter, snow. Then, silence and few movements. Then, the main two characters, a couple who are seemingly deeply affected, start talking. Neither of the actors do a good job, I'm sad to say. The script is forced and the dialogue feels contrived. The plot moves along at a bore's pace, and the more everything goes on, I felt a complete blanket of amateurism crudely laid over the entire production. I could go on with how the twists and turns in this film don't feel relevant, or how I never felt any kind of care for anything in this production, but that would just be giving this machine more than it deserves. Stay away.

    0.3

My saved links (weekly)

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Morning at the doctor’s

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Some haunting scenes from the local doctor’s.

I visited the local doctor’s this morning. Catching an appointment that’s available before the summer is about as possible as catching sunlight in a jar, so they recommended I’d pop down for “public reception”.

I did, 20 minutes before they opened, and was slightly baffled: a 20-meter queue met me. Apparently I live in the past where turning up 15 minutes before opening hours is OK. People think Greece has it bad?! Well, I bitch. Still, imagine listening to this for the 20 minutes I waited to see somebody in reception:

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I don’t blame a kid for crying. It’s the kid’s dad who’s my reason for griping. The kid repeated “I DON’T WANNA SEE A DOCTOR WAAAH I DON’T WANNA GOOO” which is understandable – he’s a kid – but the dad… He just replied “I know.” or “Yes, I have heard you.” whenever the kid complained. Gah.

I paid 200 SKR, met with a doctor for five minutes, was told that I need to see another doctor and that I’ll have to meet another doctor in the future.

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My saved links (weekly)

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Michael Ian Black and his dog

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From Michael Ian Black’s book “You’re Not Doing It Right: Tales of Marriage, Sex, Death, and Other Humiliations“, here’s a few paragraphs on getting a dog, and what happens with it:

So one Saturday morning in the spring, we take the subway uptown to an animal shelter. Martha and I are both adamant that we should adopt a shelter dog. It feels like the morally correct thing to do, allowing me to play Oskar Schindler for a day.

When we arrive at the shelter, we are greeted by an affable young woman who has me fill out some forms and asks me a series of questions about my ability to care for a pet. Then she gets a little more personal: how much do I make? I give her an approximate figure. She asks to see a bank statement. I do not have a bank statement. It never occurred to me to bring a bank statement to the animal shelter because I did not think income verification would be part of the pet adoption process. For a human child perhaps, but not for an animal that would otherwise be put to death.

I do happen to have an ATM statement crumpled in my pocket, which shows my current checking account balance. (Not to brag, but it is considerable. Okay, I am bragging.) I show it to the lady thinking, Surely, this will suffice. It does not suffice. “I’m sorry,” she says. “But this shows how much money I have.” “It’s not a bank statement.” “Yes, but it’s a statement from a bank.” “But it may not be your statement from your bank.” I show her that the last few numbers on my ATM card match the last few numbers on the statement. I offer to go to an ATM and procure another, identical statement. She can even come with me if she wants to make sure no pet adoption chicanery is taking place. No. Only an official bank statement will do. Is she kidding? She is not kidding. She tells me to come back when I have a proper bank statement.

But I do not want to come back. Coming back means waiting until Monday, when my bank is open. I don’t want to wait. I don’t want a dog on Monday. I want a dog NOW! Surely, even Oskar Schindler never had to work as hard as this! We leave, incensed.

Fuck those shelter dogs. Let them die. My only recourse is to find a pet store. Any pet store will do. I will march into the first one I find and bellow, “Show me your dogs!” I will select their most expensive specimen, fit it with a rhinestone-crusted collar, and buy every single stupid squeaky toy they have. Then I will march back to the animal shelter, where I will press my new dog’s face against the window and scream, “LOOK AT MY EXPENSIVE DOG!” to the hard-hearted woman within. Then I will run away.

And, of the death of his beloved dog:

The vet gives us a few moments to talk, then asks what we want to do. We look at each other and I tell him okay. At least some of the reason I have just agreed to let him kill my dog is that I feel bad he drove all the way out here. “Let’s do it in the bedroom, on her dog bed.” He says that’s fine. I ask if I can be in there with her. Yes. Martha says she can’t watch. I don’t know if I can watch, either, but I want the last face she sees to be one of ours. The three of us go into the bedroom. Mattie curls up on her bed, tail still thumping. I sit on the floor beside her while the doctor extracts his vials and syringe. I scratch behind Mattie’s ears and tell her I love her. I go “shhh,” over and over even though she’s not making any noise. The doctor inserts the needle into her side. Mattie flinches a little at the needle prick, but after a few seconds starts to relax as the first drug, a sedative, takes hold. I feel my chest seizing up. “Shhh,” I say to her and I am crying. “Shhh.” Her eyes start to glaze over, but she is still here. I know she’s still here, I can see her watching me. Her eyes are deep and clear and she is dying. I can’t sit here. I can’t. Before I know what I’m even doing, I am on my feet and fleeing the room. Leaving Mattie before it is done is the single greatest shame of my life. Martha stands, arms crossed over her chest, in the living room. “Is it over?” I can only shake my head no. A few minutes later the doctor emerges from our bedroom, his black bag zipped tight. I write him a check, thank him, and he leaves.

The book is good.

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