“Hipsters don’t like when you call them hipsters.” True dat.
Wow. From The Guardian:
An ancient bristlecone pine against the Milky Way as a meteor streaks across the sky in the White mountains, California, was the winning entry in this year’s astronomy photographer of the year competition. Photograph by Tom Lowe
December 14th already!
SO much to do before this decade dies.
I am going to have to start getting up at a decent hour.
Rah then. Christmas. We’re staying home this year. First Christmas in London since that time I missed the train home and spent the Eve and the Morning on my own in East Finchley with no heating and nothing to eat but Dairylea triangles. World famous superstar DJ Erol Alkan rescued me at lunchtime, bless him. He sent a cab round to get my lonely ass and take me back to his old place in Tuffnel Park, where him and Gordon were playing WWF. That’s the Christmas spirit. I will never forget it. He gave me a wrestling outfit and everything.
This year I am in much better shape, as I have my girl, and with any luck we’ll have enough money to buy gas and Quality Street. I am well looking forward to it. I might have to nick us a tree. We can sit under it and watch It’s A Wonderful Life on the computer monitor. Sounds amazing to me. Are there any other Christmassy movies that come close? Cos that’s only gonna keep us occupied for an hour and a half. I am not going to do any work either, although I am considering stealing the Queen’s thunder by broadcasting The Don’s Speech via Youstream at 4pm.
It’s gonna be grate!
Rah though. If you’ve been wondering what to get me for Christmas, as surely you must have been, mostly I want:
A place to live and work in that fits
Not to have to worry about how I am going to pay the rent evey day of my life
Not to have to worry about the gas/electric running out every morning
Some new glasses
Some contact lenses
An analogue synthesiser that sounds awesome, like a Korg or something
Oh, and World Peace, obviously.
Of course, that stuff is all a bit big, and is stuff I must Earn, with my Vast Array Of Skills. And I will, I do not doubt it for a second. But it the meantime, I suppose if you really wanna, you can buy me some comics. I’ve read all the ones I own many, many times, and my cbr days are over, until I earn that new laptop. My girl didn’t like me reading .cbrs in bed anyway, it fucked with her sleep patterns. So I have made a handy Amazon Wish List of comics I’d like to read. It has a PlayStation3 at the bottom as well, which is a bit silly considering I don’t have a telly to play it on anyway, and I just had to sell my projector on Ebay.
Ho ho ho!
One of these days I swear down I am going to play GTA4.
When I deserve it.
Maybe when I am old and have time to play computer games, eh? I just looked at my Project List, and that looks like it’s gonna keep me busy till the 20s. By which time the GTA games will be brain transfers one can engage in while sleeping, and all my problems will be solved.
To the future Post Office and beyond!
PS – I know I have a great deal of email correspondance to catch up on, and shall attempt to do some of that after I get back from the Post Office. So there.
PPS – Demonoid is back!
So, there were a bunch of updates and pictures and things, and they got wiped! Oh, the tragedy.
So, a recap. On my last day on Rivington Street I saw a white thug in an open-top Hummer drive by blasting out ‘I Want The One I Can’t Have’ and nodding along with a serious expression about his face.
Then we went.
Wade and I ended up on the coach, as there was no room in the van, or car. We got there early, and checked out the scene. The scene is small.
We don’t actually live in Woodstock. We live in Shandaken, outside. Well, just outside. Half way up a mountain, hidden away by forest, amongst bears and chipmunks and what have you. In a big old dusty house full of weird porn and broken stuff, with brown water and giant ants. Like, there’s a jacuzzi, but it doesn’t seem to work. There is the biggest TV you’ve ever seen, but it’s got a big black tear across the front and doesn’t tune properly. It’s a two hour walk to the nearest shop, whihc is a petrol station, and does a good line in biscuits. The local girl’s got a lot of guns.
It is very lovely to look at up in Shandaken. Mountains covered in trees, mainly. Streams. Clouds so low you can jump up and punch them.
I miss Wade, who is back in London sorting out affairs. All my stuff is in boxes.