This Means War

Wake at 9am after night spent dreaming rather explicitly homoerotic dreams. Self often dreams such dreams, but dreams typically feature hardbodies such as Ryan Reynolds, Tom Cruise and Mel Gibson (who count as fair game), rather than real life people self has met and interacted with. Self therefore requiring strong dose of man-who-likes-womaness to avoid spiral into massive lifestyle sidestep that would give self’s father cardiac injury. This Means War has guns and woman and word war on poster. Self punches wall and pours tankard of bear blood as self read in academic heterosexual man journal Zoo Magazine that such rituals make man more heterosexual. 

High Fidelity

Self’s desert island, all-time, top five most memorable wake-ups, in chronological order are as follows:

1. Tearlessly birthing from self’s mother with medically undiagnosed addiction to alcohol and cigarettes and Ryan Reynolds films, quilted in chicken batter
2. Stirring in top tier of single bunk bed seamlessly continuing complex conversation with self’s aunt (in bottom tier of single bunk bed) from previous evening
3. Entering consciousness on never-but-almost flatmate Simon’s couch with half of face covered in blood following drink spiking fiasco in Soho dungeon
4. Rising with slight hangover to ex-girlfriend’s kisses on self’s back in rare moment when self felt truly loved without baggage of rival boyfriends
5. Flailing aimlessly on comfortable couch in Haggerston basement flat at 9am next to young-looking-thirty-something damsel following near-religious Hyde Park music centric communion with ex-flatmate Tom and ex-flatmate Tom’s girlfriend Georgia and probably-never-flatmate Bruce Springsteen

JCVD

Wake at 9.30am show-worn and sweat-drained after week of rioting (self obviously wasn’t part of riots [since self prefers stealing hearts rather than plasma screen televisions], but self was caught near riots [since self lives in Peckham]) and performing in Noël Coward’s revisionist history lesson Peace in our Time. Self received positive feedback for performance in show but positive feedback not money, so self unable to spend week gloating in manner of confident squirrel who has more nuts/plasma screen televisions than other squirrels, so self must instead go to Walthamstow Job Centre to request Job Seekers Allowance. 

Morning Glory

Wake at 10am in morning feeling glorious, refreshed and prepared to vanquish illness developed yesterday whilst rehearsing Noël Coward play and drinking rosé on National Theatre balcony with non-flatmate ex-workmate Valentina. Self watches season two of The Wire whilst prepping itinerant to-do list for approaching holiday to sunny Portugal. Self decides to publish list on blog:

The Life of David Gale

Arrive back at new flat at 8pm. Self is weary, broken, emotionally drained like formally-wet-now-stone-cold-dry sponge. Flat seems quiet which self prefers as self far too exhausted to speak to other humans. Self unrobes, throws clothes to corner, clambers into bed and watches climax of first season of The Wire on laptop. Self disappears quickly into abyss of unconsciousness.

Bad Teacher

Wake (badly) at 9am by noise of lecture about early rising given by teacher father. (Self’s father actually headteacher but word gaming in blog posts often fails to work if self entirely accurate.) (Rethinking occurs whereby self concludes that “Wake [badly] at 9am because of lecture by headteacher father” would have sufficed just as well.) Self has set plan for how to spend Sunday. (Blog posting sometimes occurs several days after blog post experienced in real rather than reel life [self writes in faux present tense] because self [despite posts mostly about self drinking] occasionally busy with life tasks [current life task requires self move out of parents’ house] and drinking.) Self’s plan for God’s day (Sunday) includes self watching highly acclaimed women’s comedyBridesmaids (although highly acclaimed women’s film directed by man [not woman]), hugging self’s mother (as self moving house), leaving parents’ house with possessions (as self moving house), taking possessions to new house (as self moving house), and potentially kissing new flatmates (as self moving to flat not house).

Alien: Resurrection

Erect self from bed at 10am. Self marginally inert after late night spent trying to understand Alien³ and watching countless episodes of brilliant AMC series Breaking Bad on laptop whilst in bed. Self brews dangerously strong coffee and consumes coffee with black cigarette in garden whilst morning of summer solstice washes over self. As self stands in parents’ garden, basking in beautiful light of sun, surrounded by strange and wonderful gorgeous creatures of earth and air adorned with stunning array of colours, self reflects on experience of David Fincher’s Alien³. Self’s soul empties out, but not in positive confessional catharsis brought on by innocence and power of Mother Nature, rather in disgusted, hopeless, what-is–point-of-carrying-on-if-Sigourney-Weaver-just-commits-suicide drowning sensation that can only be experienced morning following vicious argument with dinosaur or viewing of Alien³.

Alien³

Wake at 9am. In reality, self woke at 10.30am, but typing 9am looks better. Whilst updating blog with Aliens post, self engages in viewing of episode from Aaron Sorkin’s collapsed television show Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. Self has taken to revisiting sorely yearned for Sorkin show each morning as high calibre dialogue makes self feel more intelligent for rest of day. Impression of intellect rather undermined by self’s habit of making animal noises whenever stroked on head or baby sounds whenever tickled on tummy which self thinks amusing and almost cute. In reality, self’s behaviour contemptible curious creepiness.

Aliens

Wake at 9am with design to go on morning jog through wooded area near house before traveling to central London to continue writing almost-forgotten-certainly-under-nurtured play about state of literary criticism which self hopes will make self rich and famous before end of year before going to double shift at work. During morning coffee and cigarette routine in back garden, sluggish self becomes aware that British summer rainstorm occurring around self. With substantially sweetened coffee splish splashing across garden patio, self finishes soggy smoke and reenters house, damp, plans aborted entirely, with new plan of action encompassing watching second film in Alien tetralogy Aliens and playing on Internet. Self pleased with plan as usually (ignoring momentary lapse of slothfulness self had earlier when productive and useful proposal for how to spend day prior to work was made) self’s weekends are occupied by time at work and are as busy socially and personally as Terence Malick’s filmmaking career.

Alien

Return home from work at 10pm absolutely convinced that self and large portion of mankind will suffer death by splintery extra-terrestrial rock fingers of 390 metre wide asteroid named Apophis in 2036. Fears attributed to small sized article in The Times on Saturday and medium sized online post on The Guardian website in 2005. Preparations can not begin soon enough. Whilst self’s chances of surviving until date of deep impact slimmer than Christy Turlington, precautions for semi-armageddon now necessarily under consideration. Precautions include but not limited to move from terrestrial plane to life in space. Self has never lived in outer space before, although friends of self might argue that self’s mind has long resided in far flung reaches of galaxy. Nevertheless, mental unrest does not equate to understanding of domesticity in deep dark space. Further, what can self expect to find whilst star surfing upon constellations?

The Guardian

Wake at 1.30am on night bus following audition for play destined for Camden Fringe Festival. Self in no state to bed down as adrenaline and alcohol surging through bloodstream after entire day spent in pub interacting with old (though younger than self) university friends. In bag self finds two beers, book on life of Iris Murdoch, two highlighter pens, small blue notepad, various Guardian newspaper supplements and DVD of Kevin Costner/Ashton Kutcher 2006 film The Guardian. Presumption that film brilliant investigative journalist thriller in style of All the President’s Men or Zodiac about old hang dog journalist at Guardian newspaper being coupled with young jump puppy journalist at Guardian to uncover massive political misdeeds would be wrong, though understandable, as actual content of film unknown to most as film not exactly considered classic. In reality, film more like sea version of Ladder 49. Self has film in bag as self gave film to non-flatmate-nor-house-mate-best-bambina-work-mate Valentina as present as Valentina has crush on Ashton Kutcher. Self inherited through genes self’s mother’s crush on Kevin Costner, so naturally self has already seen film, but since film readily available and self unwilling to sleep, self inserts DVD into parentally owned plasma-TV-based media centre in living room.

Life as a House (et al)

Wake at 6.30am. Sleep. Wake at 7am. Sleep. Wake at 7.04am. Sleep. Wake at 8.30am. Alarm noise from encased-in-pink iPhone 3GS causes creeping sense of possibility of nervous disorder developing so decide finally to tip self from bed onto floor to pacify iPhone hubbub with recently built body blubber.

Podcast Episode 2 10/09/10

Wake unexpectedly early at 9am. Realise following investigation that early rise due to flashing reminder on phone. Strange. Self does not remember using reminder function on mobile communication device to create reminder. Remember suddenly that last time self was in communion with non-flatmate workmate Tom Bell for creation of podcast to remind blog readers what to expect to see in cinema in forthcoming week, Tom Bell spent length of time toying with mobile communication device with wry smile on face.

Realise in Sherlockian manner that non-flatmate Tom Bell has abused access privileges for sake of jeopardising self sleep pattern. Decide to make Tom Bell life living hell.

Remember in upsetting non-phone-based-reminder moment that Tom Bell needed for podcast. Decide to forgo punishment until later yet-to-be-determined-but-hopefully-soon date.

Record podcast with disappointingly ill Tom Bell and, post podcast, post podcast on podcast posting website. Podcast posting gleeful as self remembers at point of posting – from analogue reminder Post-It posted on nearby bedroom wall – that iTunes automatically updates self podcast on podcast section of iTunes, therefore self has no reason to post podcast on podcast section of iTunes website. Readers need to deposit in search engine of iTunes store: Josh in Reel Life, and will thus have access to new podcast post. Decide to programme reminder to self in phone that self need not post podcast on iTunes, as well as reminder to commit act of vengeance not in favour of reminder posting Tom bell.

As a reminder, podcast post available at: http://joshmorrall.podomatic.com/entry/2010-09-07T09_12_30-07_00

Podcast post also available on iTunes podcast sections.

Post casting of post on blog about posting of podcast, self carries out post-mortem of blog entry. Post will be, disappointingly, unavailable by post.

American Beauty

My name is self. This is my blog. This is (very much) my life. I am twenty-three years old, in less than a year (chances are), I’ll be dead. But, of course, I don’t know that (for a fact) yet. And, in a way, I’m dead already. Look at me: blogging in my bedroom. This will be the highpoint of my day. It’s all downhill from here.

Podcast Episode 1 27/08/10

Wake at 10am as have meeting later with non-flatmate workmate Tom to record first ever podcast. Self terrified, but excited. Hope podcast will become reoccurring feature on blog, especially since self now watches only Simon Amstell YouTube clips and episodes of Dexter.

Spend several hours following recording of podcast learning how to make podcast available to readers. Process ultimately takes entire week as self struggles fruitlessly with HTML encoding and dermatologically tested moisturising lotion, which self uses in no relation to Simon Amstell.

Submit podcast to iTunes with hope of easier uploading in future. Response unforthcoming. Moisturising lotion takes over most of desk. Experience novelty feelings of desire to emulate Dexter as frustration and lotion pool increase. Eventually succeed in putting blog online and link to podcast on blog:

http://joshmorrall.podomatic.com/entry/2010-09-01T05_18_28-07_00

The Patriot

Wake at 9.30am with bed guest. Am irresistibly drawn to laptop to check comment updates on new blogging site. Find majority of comments from self mother. Self mother apparently promoting blog to school children. Feedback severe as schoolchildren think self moans too much about lack of cider. Self confused as self hardly ever without cider and criticism jars with feedback from non-flatmate workmate Tom who thinks self should write less about films and more about life, but self can’t as non-flatmate younger friend Louise called blog solipsistic. Self unable to harmonise violently divergent strands of reaction and decide to forgo watching films forever.

Notification of Completed Transition

Self has completed transition from rusty old blog that does not allow comments at blogger.com (www.josh-in-reel-life.blogspot.com) to shiny new big-image-of-self-above-blog-entries-incorporating blog at wordpress.com. Self has developed Judas complex, but self undergoing punishment in form of limited font access on new blogging site. Self hopes small group of blog readers find new have-no-choice-so-have-to-use-it white background acceptable in place of old black background. Self apologises to uncaring blog readers for lack of updates during transition. Self hopes blog readers comforted to learn that self has done nothing in elapsed time, let alone watch films, as self still harbouring Simon Amstell obsession. Self fears blog likely to emulate Simon Amstell brand of humour for time being. Self hopes readers of blog enjoy new capacity to comment on blog. Self hopes readers of blog do not abuse new feature. Self hopes no further transitions on horizon. Fade out.

Knight and Day

Wake at 11am after (day of light) and night of heaving drinking with non-flatmate workmate Lydia and non-flatmate old friend Jimmy at hallowed tavern on Strand. Evening culminated in reading of play self amalgamated from pre-existing Harold Pinter plays drawn from tome Harold Pinter Plays 4 with view of performing play with flatmate Tom, but production plan progress limited by flatmate Tom refusal to communicate with self from original homestead in Devon through social networking site. Self considers replacing flatmate Tom with non-flatmate Jimmy but self doesn’t want to commit to notion as self drunk.

Kick-Ass

Following numbing experience offered by The Joneses, decide that self due film viewing that self knows congenial in advance. Load Jonathan-Ross-wife-scripted presumably jolly film Kick Ass onto VLC player. Create elaborate chicken/ham/tomato/cucumber/olive/lettuce/spinach/cheese/oregano/salt salad and enjoy by-now-well-known underdog plot of kid deciding to become vigilante superhero, including shockingly graphic (given preconceptions regarding film) stab-and-hit-by-car sequence and young-girl-who’s-also-vigilante-and-daughter-of-ex-cop-now-vigilante-Nicolas-Cage saying “Cunts.”

The Joneses

Wake at 10.30am to rave ringtone cranking out of mobile communication device. Ignore and return to state of slumber as device too far away from bed. Wake at 11.30am and return missed call from flatmate Johnny. Hopeful that flatmate Johnny interested in date night. Flatmate Johnny not interested in date night. Flatmate Johnny selfishly requests passport information, which self initially refuses as self does not want flatmate Johnny to go to SummerSlam. Flatmate Johnny instead needs information for purposes of weekend trip to Frankfurt. Self has seen Frankfurt so gives flatmate Johnny details.