Changes through celluloid.

Some of my favourite moments caught on camera.

I found these daisies in my Dads bird bath.

My cat, Sally.

I thought these two cats were wonderful.

Beautiful marble carving at Ephesus.

This was taken when I was on a boat in Venice.

This is the first time I saw Buckingham Palace. The same day I met Bret Easton Ellis (taken by Emily).

"You missed so many hints about me."

“There are so many things Blair doesn’t get about me, so many things she ultimately overlooked, and things she would never know, and there would always be a distance between us because there were too many shadows everywhere. Had she ever made promises to a faithless reflection in the mirror? Had she ever cried because she hated someone so much? Had she ever craved betrayal to the point where she pushed the crudest fantasies into reality, coming up with sequences that only she and nobody else could read, moving the game as you play it? Could she locate the moment she went dead inside? Does she remember the year it took to become that way? The fades, the dissolves, the rewritten scenes, all the things you wipe away- I now want to explain these things to her but I know I never will, the most important one being: I never liked anyone and I’m afraid of people.”

- Imperial Bedrooms.

Love Like Winter.

There is no doubt that winter is on its way. Today I had gone out in search for a tweed blazer but instead returned with this wooly jumper that I purchased from a charity shop. Now that I have managed to find myself a job I have a list of winter wants:
A blazer.
New boots.
More seasonal jumpers.
A satchel.
More books.
I know I will not be able to get all of these all at once (waah) but one can dream.


At the moment I am loving Autumn colours: reds, golds, greens, dark chestnut browns... Lately it's all I have been wearing. I am very excited about Halloween, Bonfire Night and Christmas. I didn't get to celebrate any of these last year, but this year I see it as being some kind of recovery- a way of healing. Now, I know a few people will be thinking 'Jeez, it's only another day.' but these days are days when I get to forget harshness of real life. I am going to embrace these days. As a child these were wonderful days that I got to spend with my family and friends. So, hopefully, this year it's going to be like that.

Bret Easton Ellis and his excellent sense of humour.

Emily showed me this excellent video of Bret Easton Ellis doing what he does best- being
awesome. Did I tell you we met him? I truly believe that he is the funniest
person I have ever encountered. Also, has anyone read his essay on Teletubbies? If not, here
it is...

THE BIG ISSUE Why the Teletubbies are evil. The shocking truth by Bret Easton Ellis.

There is a children's TV program that takes place under gray English skies where a sun with the face of a baby so adorable he must be computer-generated rises as a tinny march plays on the soundtrack.
And then the Teletubbies appear--four blobs, performers in costumes, each a different color of pale frosting with defining antennae flopping on top of their heads--cavorting and frolicking in an astroturfed wasteland, a barren miniature golf course. They take karate stances for no apparent reason. They carry purses. They have names like Dipsy and Tinky-Winky. They have smooth, ageless, simian faces. They speak in sentence fragments and clipped phrases, sounding vaguely like giddy Japanese waitresses who work at the sushi bar in Hell. Sometimes they interact with a narrator who asks urgent questions along the lines of, "What's in the bag, Tinky-Winky?"

Like toddlers, the Teletubbies are amazed by balls, pieces of felt and plastic food. Holding balls, pieces of felt and plastic food. Holding hand while dancing around a plant is an especially popular pastime. Toys are put in bags and then pulled out of bags with great fanfare and encouragement. Minutes go by as the Teletubbies fall over while the sun looks down on them and squeals with delight. Sober, straining to pay attention you have no idea what's going on. Imagining the performers in those suits making "tubby custard," tasting "tubby toast" and trying on hats can move you to make yourself a very large drink.

Teletubbies share this space with giant, motley rabbits that are real and lumber toward plastic flower beds (one insider tells me the rabbits are as large as "small lambs" and are "bred especially" for this show). Farting noises commence, periscopes pop out of astroturf, a pinwheel dispenses sparkly rays causing the Teletubbies to huddle and spaz out, and that's when the gray squares on their bellies start glowing.

These Oompa Loompas on acid are actually living televisions--all proudly baring a screen embedded in their stomachs, which flash to life, showing short films of real children acting disconcertingly like Teletubbies--attempting gymnastics, zipping up bags, closing and opening drawers, deciding what to wear, singing mindlessly, hiding from each other (actually what any number of my friends in Manhattan do on a daily basis). This documentary footage reminds you of the thin line between the speech patterns of children and total drunks.

Though it lacks the forced, noxious gaiety of Barny, Teletubbies seems like a wicked satirist's idea of a horrible children's program watched in a future concocted by Huxley or Orwell or Gibson. They are reminiscent of the mutants in David Cronenberg's The Brood, and you can only stare and think: well they must have been designed to upset us. It's a dare. Marilyn Manson's calculated shock tactics seem phony compared to these psychedelic teddy bears (a warning: do not play The Dope Show over Teletubbies with the volume off). I would actually rather have my kids watch Taxi Cab Confessions or Deliverance.

The soothing tones, the eerie quiet, the New Agey vibe, the immaculate surfaces, everything so anal and controlled and antiseptic, a world where even the spontaneous seems rehearsed, the sheer humorlessness of it all--is what makes Teletubbies so creepy and emlematic of the new mothers and fathers of my generation.

Part of my resentment stems from the fact that I'm at an age where the majority of these friends are having children and settling down and this intrudes upon my bachelor lifestyle: dinner reservations are now made at seven, wilder invitations are bypassed, casual indignation about drugs and movie violence (these from former addicts, dealers, nymphos). But part of it stems from the hypocrisy of adults--the creators of Teletubbies and the scared, thoughtful parents plopping their kids in front of the tube--who over-identify with children and want the world baby-proofed. Adults who want the world to conform to their own notion of safety.

There was a mad, anarchic quality to Sesame Street--wit and sass were in abundance--in the late 60's and early 70's. The puppets were boisterous and often confused and fed up with the adults (authority figures) surrounding them. There were skits, rock songs, a general air of messiness that is conspicuously absent from Teletubbies and which makes it such odious time when cultural artifacts are stripped down to such an essential dumbness that people can locate a purity and familiarity they find soothing. Comfort abounds. Get Zen! Zone out! Sshhh.

One gets the feeling that if the Cookie Monster or Oscar the Grouch entered Teletubby land, their uncontrollable natures would compel the Teletubbies to club the living shit out of them and have the giant pinwheel make their muppet corpses disappear.


Hahahaha, brilliant.

Florence Welch is my hero.

I love Florence Welch with all of my heart. I just saw this photo of her attending the Chanel Ready to Wear Spring/Summer 2011 show during Paris Fashion Week. Did anyone else read her tweets during that week? "Met Karl, drinking a goblet of diet coke, best guy ever, gave me a few hints about next years show." Karl Lagerfeld?! God, I love her.

Only Florence could pull that off. I adore her milk-white skin and flowing red hair.

Reading one of my favourite books, I have to note.

How cute?

I love this one. She looks like some kind of Crow Goddess.

P.S: I got a job!

Money is happiness.

I apologise for not posting much- I have been very busy with many job interviews. This has been demanded by my sudden state of poverty due to the bank's change in policy (thank you, government).
Anyway, just to give you a brief update (erm, all 7 of my readers...) my soul-crushing efforts at finding a job in York has made me fifteen years old again... in music taste. I have turned back to good old emo in order to help myself drown in a pool of self-pity. I have gone back to listening to albums like Good Morning by Alkaline Trio (beautiful album) and Sing the Sorrow by AFI (an old favourite). Several more old favourites I am too embarrassed to admit to. Alas, I am sure that this state will not last. I keep trying to optimistically reassure myself that I will get a job or that my money troubles will somehow magically sort themselves. Ahh the joys of being a student. Here's a clichéd motivational poster which will... keep me motivated.

Although, to be honest, I think I prefer these versions...

I think I'll take the advice of the posters. Oh wait, I can't afford to.

Frankie & the Heartstrings at The Brudenell Social Club.

I know I've talked about them many times, but I just can't help myself. I've seen Frankie & the Heartstrings twice this past week (six times in the space of 12months), once at Fibbers in York and once at The Brudenell Social Club in Leeds. Leeds was excelent, the venue seemed perfect for them and the turn out was brilliant. Perhaps one of the best gigs ever? Yes. Anyway I must inform you that their new single 'Ungrateful' is now on sale in music shops every. Please take the time to check them out, my friends. Anyway here are some photos of them live at The Brudenell. ENJOY.