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visual strangulation
Sunday, 3 April 2005 08:44 pmI am beginning to fear that, indeed, my computer just hates me. This motherboard refuses to read more than one memory chip at a time, and only part of it. I am, for example, currently running at 220MG instead of 256. Today's party trick has been to lose the graphics drivers, so that my screen is running in (shudder) 16 colours, and declines to recognise any seductive driver updates I wave before it. I've spent the day writing lectures for tomorrow, and can't work out if it's the display issues or the narrative theory which is giving me migraine-like dancy spots in front of the eyes. Barthes and Genette, pretty heavy, but this screen is very, very ugly.
Anyway. Yesterday was good, if somewhat drunken. The dread jo&stv duo hit Cape Town in the last few days, and descended upon the house yesterday afternoon for a session of catch-up, powered mostly by gin and tonics and the Evil Landlord's killer pancakes (cinnamon liqueur, Baileys and cream, in beautiful layers, best drunk by tilting the head back and tossing them off in one go). I was already somewhat festive before heading out to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
carnun's housewarming, which was pretty darn festive in and of itself. More booze, catchup with various people I don't see enough of, silly hats and ties, about 5 different dinner or other dates made, slightly drunken wend homewards around midnight. And then the usual 2am wake-up when I actually sobered up, and the concomitant tossing and turning. For twenty minutes, after which I thought "bugger it!", wrote two pieces of more or less awful poetry and dosed myself silly with muscle relaxants. Today would have been a lot better if the Horrible Lady Next Door hadn't started it off at 9am by (apparently) deconstructing her house from the inside out, with (apparently) a large rubber-headed steam hammer. And if I hadn't bunked rapier practice for the previous two weeks running: my legs are jelly after an hour and a half of having my butt scientifically whupped by the two newest recruits, who are schoolgirls. *hangs head in shame*
I finished King Rat! In retrospect, I think it annoyed me most by having that fetishistic love affair with drum and bass, an erotic charge which I deeply, totally and utterly fail to get on any level. Interesting story, but, I thought, actually quite badly told. Read very much like an immature piece of work; his narrative style in Perdido Street Station and The Scar is far more accomplished. Anyway, as a self-reward for slogging through, am re-reading my P.G. Wodehouse collection, a statement which probably tells you everything you need to know about my character.
I recommend Lemony Snicket, the movie. Lovely, lovely visual sense of Gothic, well lit and filmed, Edward Goreyesque clothes, brilliant child actors, and the most fascinating end credits sequence I've seen in ages. And the Jude Law voiceover is perfect: quasi-serious ironic detachment, just like the books. I endured Jim Carrey. He was bearable.
Anyway. Yesterday was good, if somewhat drunken. The dread jo&stv duo hit Cape Town in the last few days, and descended upon the house yesterday afternoon for a session of catch-up, powered mostly by gin and tonics and the Evil Landlord's killer pancakes (cinnamon liqueur, Baileys and cream, in beautiful layers, best drunk by tilting the head back and tossing them off in one go). I was already somewhat festive before heading out to
carnun's housewarming, which was pretty darn festive in and of itself. More booze, catchup with various people I don't see enough of, silly hats and ties, about 5 different dinner or other dates made, slightly drunken wend homewards around midnight. And then the usual 2am wake-up when I actually sobered up, and the concomitant tossing and turning. For twenty minutes, after which I thought "bugger it!", wrote two pieces of more or less awful poetry and dosed myself silly with muscle relaxants. Today would have been a lot better if the Horrible Lady Next Door hadn't started it off at 9am by (apparently) deconstructing her house from the inside out, with (apparently) a large rubber-headed steam hammer. And if I hadn't bunked rapier practice for the previous two weeks running: my legs are jelly after an hour and a half of having my butt scientifically whupped by the two newest recruits, who are schoolgirls. *hangs head in shame*I finished King Rat! In retrospect, I think it annoyed me most by having that fetishistic love affair with drum and bass, an erotic charge which I deeply, totally and utterly fail to get on any level. Interesting story, but, I thought, actually quite badly told. Read very much like an immature piece of work; his narrative style in Perdido Street Station and The Scar is far more accomplished. Anyway, as a self-reward for slogging through, am re-reading my P.G. Wodehouse collection, a statement which probably tells you everything you need to know about my character.
I recommend Lemony Snicket, the movie. Lovely, lovely visual sense of Gothic, well lit and filmed, Edward Goreyesque clothes, brilliant child actors, and the most fascinating end credits sequence I've seen in ages. And the Jude Law voiceover is perfect: quasi-serious ironic detachment, just like the books. I endured Jim Carrey. He was bearable.
