I predict that Jason is the sole person who’ll take me up on this, but-

I sat down this morning and thought “Right, post something that has nothing to do with writing, you’re about due.”

But you know what? I’m being a little writing obsessive this week. Can’t be helped; I’m in the midst of the first prolonged stretch of writing I’ve had in a long while and I’m still far to excited about that to think of something else to talk about on my own.

So consider me a dancing monkey waiting for someone to crank the hurdy-gurdy (aka give me a topic and I’ll attempt to say something meaningful for your amusement. Otherwise I predict the remainder of the week will consist of me showing up with some variation of “look, I’m writing stuff, and it’s an awesome feeling” as my theme…)

This is why I’m not a reviewer

I have two moderately hard-and-fast rules when it comes picking movies: no musicals, and no spoofs. I’ve developed these rules after years of being a miserable git who complains about things, and they’re usually followed for the safety of everyone involved. I’m just not geared to enjoy either of those genres, so it’s safer to avoid them.

Last Friday, while visiting the local video store, I broke said rules three times. The first to pick up Cabaret and The Producers, the second to pick up Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story.

To their credit, none of those films was the worst thing I watched this week (that was a film called Blue State, which made me profoundly irritated and left me wondering if a film that was theoretically about being part of the American left was perhaps funded by conservatives gleefully trying to make lefties look idiotic and redundant); yet all three reminded me that I really shouldn’t watch musicals or films that built their commedy around spoofing other films.

Walk Hard actually managed to be funny for about six consecutive minutes, largely due to cameo’s by people playing the Beatles; Cabaret was actually pretty watchable, but I’d happily have traded most of the plot for a story revolving around the MC at the club who proved more engaging than any of the leads; and The Producers just isn’t my thing – the sole moment I actually developed an interest in the film was when the crazy German was on-screen and a brief re-wind of the DVD in order to work out whether I had, in fact, just seen John Barrowman as a dancing Nazi (I had).

In order, I’d probably choose to re-watch Cabaret first, The Producers second, and the others not at all.

The demoralizing effect of having your self-image shattered

I am in two minds today. One part of me notes the general exhaustion that follows the Monday-of-Doom (aka the day I teach seven straight hours of classes, pacing like a maniac the entire time) and says “Seriously, man, just post something and worry about content tomorrow.” The other part of me looks at the long string of blog posts about nothing in particular and thinks it’s probably worth holding off until I’ve got something worthwhile to say.

Given that I thought “shit, I look old today” when I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror a few minutes back, I think  the first impulse is going to win. I am, however, going to go away and start putting together a more meaningful post for later 🙂