G.I. Joe PSA - Mimimimimi. Wonderful.

Labels: humour, time wasting

Why do we need ushers? Apart from keeping struggling, young actors in employment, of course. The other day, at La Cage again (probably more on that at a later point), I approached one of the said ushers with my ticket, like I normally do. She was being very cheerful and polite, and said 'you're in seat nine, madam, on the third row'. I said thank you and went to find my seat.

OK, so what just happened?

1. I approached the usher. I always do this. I think it's my way of being polite, because I know perfectly well where I'm seated. It's not rocket science. Maybe I feel sorry for them, standing there by the door like wallflowers.
2. I looked confused. WHY? I mean...just WHY? What a ridiculous thing to do. I approach the usher with an apologetic smile, looking like I have just landed on this planet and want my mummy. I show them my ticket, which I have just managed to read about three times within the last minute all on my own, and want some kind of help. Just to be nice. It's like saying 'I'm an idiot and need assistance. See me wee(p) if you don't help RIGHT NOW.'
3. She called me 'madam'. At some point during the first year that I lived over here in the UK, people went from calling me 'miss' to 'madam'. I hadn't done anything differently, I think, but it happened. I want to blame the stress surrounding the move, which after all gave me my first white strands of hair. (Yet at the same time I sometimes still have to show people my ID when buying alcohol.)
4. The usher read my ticket to me. Let me stress that.

She. Just. Read. It. To. Me.

And then I thanked her for stating the obvious. Because, after all, I am a silly customer who has managed to book and pay for the ticket, dress herself, get on the right tube, find the right street and even find the right theatre and entrance, only to fall at the last hurdle, slowly losing sight of the coveted gold medal.

What utter nonsense.

Labels: humour, musicals, personal, theatre

...The Tent, the Bucket and Me by Emma Kennedy. A tale about her 'family's disastrous attempts to go camping in the 70s'. Very funny, very enjoyable and very familiar! Although perhaps our camping trips were slightly more successful.

Labels: humour, literature

Waiting for a delivery?

Labels: humour, time wasting

Last night I dreamt that I encountered Daniel Hill in Berkeley Square Gardens and simply had to ask for his autograph. I have always felt as if I'm his only fan, and so, apparently, does my subconscious, as he proceeded to grin very broadly when I asked him and then went on to quote a whole poem on this piece of paper before finally signing it (in a very childish handwriting, I might add). I then went to the nearby Jaguar shop to buy a car.

In part two of this dream, Michael Palin (no need for a link there, I should hope!) had become president of the UK, and made everyone stop what they were doing at 8.30 in the morning to salute his image and chant something preposterous which included the words 'hail' and 'supreme being'. I was shocked (and no, there is no way my subconscious thinks Palin is anywhere close to that characterisation). It then turned out that he had also ordered every child (up to the age of 40, apparently) to be sent to orphanages spread across each city. I was deemed too important for being imprisoned, though, as I was an excellent diver (never dived in my life) and there was a serious threat from a band of sea monsters we had to deal with. I was given the command of the national diving team (bit of narcissism shining through there, ahem...), and we went on our dangerous mission via a local pool where there were several people with their kids (strangely enough, seeing as they should all have been locked up). One of those was Bill Paxton (I was watching Frailty yesterday) with his borrowed two-year-old, who morphed into Ed Harris (probably because I think Paxton is a nice guy) and threw an absolute fit when he thought I was too slow to move out of the way as they were leaving. We finally got into the pool and started descending into the water, as I awoke. My bet is that we got rid of the monsters and saved the world.

In the spirit of the Red Dwarf guys recording commentaries on Back to Earth today, I am going to watch Back to Reality (S5E6) with commentaries now.

Labels: daniel hill, dreams, humour, michael palin, personal, red dwarf

In the spirit of #followfriday, I set myself my own task today via Twitter. I was to write a 500-word-snippet including the random words dapper, hell-bent and Fraggle. Here is the unedited and rather miserable result I threw together during my lunch hour (and for some inexplicable reason, my mind conjured up two names of the Proops persuasion. Ho hum.):

---

As a holy man, Gregory had seen his share of misery among the populace. His congregation, for a start, contained mostly old W.I. members with a penchant for crocheting and harassing the local transvestites (of which there were three: Johnny Long Johns, Mark the Spark and Mullet from the docks). When Marjorie had left the gas on and caused half her street to go up in flames (via a big kablooey), Gregory had had to comfort the old sods who suddenly had nowhere to go and no family who remembered them—or was it the other way round? He could not stand the constant smell of wee inside the church hall and was hell-bent on getting out of that awful job of his before it was too late. Also, he suspected their babbling had rubbed off—he often found himself muttering obscenities under his breath without actually remembering wilfully to have planned it that way.

Today was just another horrid day he had to face. His toast had been soggy due to bad planning—trying out a new, supposedly efficient morning routine, he had thrown a couple of slices into the toaster before hitting the shower, completely forgetting about the little machine’s rather unfortunate habit of projectile-vomiting anything which was put into it, at quite alarming speed. When he came back from the shower, the toasts were to be found in a flower pot on the window-sill and in the cat’s litter tray. He took it as a sign from God and ate them both.

When he arrived at the rectory, however, a worse sign awaited him. Mullet from the docks was leaning against the wrought iron fence, smoking a pipe. It somehow clashed with his purple dress. He did look dapper, though, and Gregory had to focus on the beard to regain control of his senses.

“Top o’ the mornin’ to ya, reverend, I was wonderin’ if I could have a word?” Mullet’s voice boomed, bouncing off every wall around them. Gregory had never quite understood why Mullet always went for this mock-Irish, pirate-y accent when he came from Dorset, but then again there was quite a lot of things about Mullet that Gregory didn’t grasp.

He unlocked the door and motioned Mullet into the office. He was rough-looking, but had kind eyes. Two of his front teeth were missing. Gregory noted that this was a brand new feature.

“Aye, ye’ve seen me teeth, then?”
“Not really, Mullet. They seem to have gone on holiday.”

Mullet chuckled and slapped his thigh. Gregory was slightly alarmed and decided to leave the door open for now.

“I was only wond’rin’, reverend, ‘bout what ye think ‘bout Fraggles?”

Gregory put on his best holy man show—pensive pout, clasped hands, both index fingers stretched out and touching his lips. He hadn’t a clue what Mullet was on, but he certainly wanted some of it.

“I think you need to fill me in, Mullet.”
“Fraggles, those critters who live underground an’ hunt in packs. They’ve got coloured hair and big...starin’...eyes.” Mullet’s right eye was suddenly experiencing a tic overload. His hand shot up and hit the eye repeatedly. “Aye, starin’, they are. One of ‘em, don’ ask me how, got into the pub las’ night an’ was causin’ a right ruckus in there. I could barely get outta there in one piece!”

Gregory wanted to point out the missing teeth, but decided against it. At the moment, his chief concern was to get Mullet out of his office and some gin into his system.

“So, reverend, ye do those exorcisms, right?”
“I doubt that’ll be necessary.”
“Jus’ a teeny exorcism in the pub, kinda like a nice gesture, so that all of us can drink there in peace.”
“Maybe it’s a sign, Mullet—maybe God wants you to stop drinking?”
“Jeez, no need ta go all religious on me, reverend. Them Fraggles are no critters of God’s work.”
“No, I think you’re right, there, which is why you’d be better off without the drink.”
“One day they’ll come fer ya, reverend, an’ I won’t be helpin’ ye then!”
“How very Christian of you. Well, go with God, Mullet, and close the fucking door behind you, will you?”

---

Labels: greg proops, humour, personal, time wasting, writing

Watching the DVD of the new Total! Pop thingie by Erasure, I noticed that they had had an appearance in 1987 on the Tom O'Connor Roadshow, which basically consisted of lots of elderly people in the audience. I know that this may not mean much; after all we all have different tastes and people can surprise you, but the probability of even 10% of those being the least bit interested in synthpop back in '87 is very low.

Luckily, Erasure could soon pick better gigs and dance moves. And I just discovered that even though I wasn't a fan from the very beginning (due to being too young and too non-UK-based, really), I have been a fan of them for 17 of their 24 years of existence, so I don't feel too bad about it. Also considering I genuinely own most of their back catalogue, including quite a few rare promos (one being a Japanese one I happened upon in a second-hand shop in Oslo back in the late nineties) and I actually listen to all of their remixes etc., I think I could call myself a proper fan by now (I am going to continue ignoring the fact that I have yet to see them live).

This morning I spotted the cover headline in the Metro saying "Soldiers in £250K MOT pay shambles". I thought this was rather weird; had they been fiddling with MOT papers or something? I thought perhaps they had been forging papers for their tanks or something. I then realised it said "MoD" (Ministry of Defence), not "MOT" (the Ministry of Transport's roadworthiness test for vehicles). I think my recent surge of interest in classic cars has coloured my ARS (Acronym Recognition Sense) (ok, so neither MoD nor MOT is technically an acronym, but "ARS" is funny).

I have to say the guys behind the Red Dwarf marketing are working overtime these days! There are lots of online virals and hidden extras lurking, and they even update these daily! Amazing. Of course, my head will implode soon if this keeps up. Only 11 days to go! (Start here if you're interested.)


The boys from the Dwarf urge you to click on that link!

Labels: chris barrie, comedy, erasure, humour, music, red dwarf, time wasting, TV

1. Go to the Amazon site of your choice (I prefer amazon.co.uk for obvious reasons).
2. Choose "Books".
3. Search for "Norway".
4. Choose category "Humour".
5. Repeat for "Norwegian", "Scandinavia" and "Scandinavian".
6. Sulk.
7. Write a book about Norwegian idiosyncrasies.
8. Name it something funny and eyecatching.
9. Publish it.
10. Earn approximately $50/£25 or the equivalent in your local currency (possibly fish) because, obviously, no one cares.

As a proper Norwegian (although I have about an ounce of Swedish blood in me) I now feel so depressed I have to grab my rucksack and go for a walk up the mountain overseeing the nearest fjord (all of which, of course, are within a stone's throw of each other--in fact, you can't see the countryside for all the fjords scattered about, annoying car drivers), so that I can eat some dried fish, play my eight-string-fiddle and possibly end the outing by reading some Ibsen and hang myself.

No, in fact I'll buy a book about Canada instead. Same shit, different continent and language. Which could also be said about New Zealand. Go figure!

Labels: humour, lists, Norway, time wasting

Yes, I say "we", because whomever is going to be elected in the US will have a huge impact on all of us. *bites her nails frantically*

It was only a matter of time. Michael Palin is clearly the best candidate of the two Palins. Thanks to rickfan37 for sharing!

Labels: current affairs, humour, michael palin

There's this crude graffiti somewhere on my way to work which always makes me laugh (well, ok, I'm down to merely giggling now). It says:

"Rebecca, Liam fancies U! Yes! U!!"

The other day my itsy bitsy world became complete when I noticed that on the three Bottom DVD's I bought, ooh, about half a year ago and still haven't unwrapped, there is the beloved Bottom Fluff collection. I have nearly worn out my old Fluff VHS, so that was very lucky. It's a smashing 45 minutes of outtakes and extended scenes from the three series. *le sigh* I also noticed, since I simply had to unwrap the first DVD to watch the first two and most brilliant episodes, that the intro features what must be the building site for the shopping centre I now walk through on my way to work. Took me a bit of time figuring out which way they were facing, but once I spotted the tube station it was pretty easy.

I'm going to hear the Philharmonic Orchestra tonight. Bad planning, though, as the Jubilee Line is partly closed (the part I use), which means what would have been a quick trip home after the concert, now has turned into an all-nighter. Well, I may be exaggerating a little bit there. Still, after a long day at work I just hope I can stay awake through it all. I happen to know that the symphony in the second part (Mahler's first) can be both relaxing and exciting, so that's going to be interesting.

Labels: comedy, concert, humour, rik mayall, TV

George Galloway MP's bus just went past my window. He calls his party "Respect".

May I just remind everyone about who George Galloway is? Most people (i.e. voters) will remember him from taking part in Celebrity Big Brother...

Labels: current affairs, humour

This is a bit like my singing in "English"...when I was four and didn't even know "yes" and "no".

Labels: humour, linguistics, music, time wasting

...maybe more of this would change your mind.

By the by, if you're at all interested in who won (and wore) what at the Oliviers, please visit the excellent blog The Alternate.

Labels: humour, sport, theatre, time wasting

Now, as I am eagerly awaiting the release of Grand Theft Auto IV in late April (touch wood), I am keeping up-to-date with the progress on a daily basis over on Gamespot and I have to say this movie was the best. I would HIGHLY recommend it for everyone, even those not even remotely interested in gaming, as it actually is a tale of Irish-themed pubs. Laughing out loud when I watched it.

Finished reading The King of Torts by John Grisham today. Must admit I was starting to get a bit bored about 2/3 into the book, and during the last few chapters I actually more or less just skimmed. Looking forward to starting a completely new book now.

Finally got episode 510 of Whose Line (US) today. It's been deleted no less than three times from my PVR because I always thought I had it already. I sort of did, but it was on my flatmate's PVR, so that didn't really count. I even managed to delete it again yesterday (DUH!), but tonight I got a firm grip on the remote and steered my fingers away from the delete button. Phew. So now I can see the wonderful Biker Gang sketch over and over and over again. Not that I would want to, but at least now I have the opportunity to do so, should I go temporarily insane in the middle of the night. And insane I would have to be, if I wanted to keep looking at that funky looking pompadour of Greg Proops's. Man! (Loosely connected with the Bergenese "gå, mann!")

Labels: comedy, gaming, greg proops, humour, linguistics, literature, time wasting, TV

You're going to love this, then:

Ronald McDonald on LSD (more or less)
I never knew Dame Julie could be scary

By the by, if you have been living under a rock, like me (although I once dreamt I lived ON a rock, with my cougar), you should watch this video.

Labels: film, humour, time wasting

But is it art? Uhmm...but is it supposed to be hilarious?

Tommy Seebach plays Apache (Denmark)
Jozin z basin (Poland)

Labels: humour, music, time wasting

That's the spirit.

In other news, my flatmate is in the process of trying to figure out a proper stage name. It's going to last her whole career and is due to be handed in to Equity in about a month's time. We are working overtime. I am working overtime trying to come up with feasible solutions, and she is working overtime rejecting them all. :D

Labels: humour, technology, time wasting

I had to go to Hertfordshire to work today. It's luckily not a rural village, but it's not exactly a great hotspot, either. They have a nice city centre here with lots of shops in one place, but other than that there is fuck all. Well, apart from lots of houses and motorways. Nice.

Today's Wulff made me laugh, though, so there is light at the end of the tunnel.

I guess I'll have to comment upon the BAFTAs on Sunday. By now you should all have read the news elsewhere, so I'm not spoiling it for you. My comments are the following: I am SO glad they actually spread the awards a little across the whole board, meaning not one singular film got all the biggest ones. I'm also very happy about Juno winning the Best Screenplay award, because it was very well-written. Oh, and Javier Bardém seemed to be great fun. Strangely enough, so did Tilda Swinton, whom I have always disliked for no particular reason other than that she creeped me out in Orlando years ago. And hey, Jason Isaacs handed out a few awards.

Last night was spent eating, watching Life in Cold Blood (I am so happy I live in a country where nature programmes are still considered to be prime time telly on the biggest channel), rehearsing lines with my flatmate and, due to no new episodes having been shown for quite some time and I was rapidly falling into a Greg Proops withdrawal-induced coma, watching a few old episodes of Whose Line is it Anyway? - old for me, the flatmate hadn't seen them before.

And this morning I got up really early to go to this place and realised it had not only been forsaken by God, but also by my co-workers, who started turning up 30 minutes after me. Argh. Could have slept a bit longer.

Labels: comedy, film, greg proops, humour, jason isaacs, personal, TV, work

Wow, that sounds harsh. But it was in my email inbox this morning, so I'm sure it's a hot topic and an increasing problem around the world, on par with all those guys and dolls apparently lacking in the penis size department. If I'd replied to all of those through the years, I am sure I...uhmm...STILL wouldn't have grown a penis by now, actually. But, of course, anything to satisfy those needy but sarcastic "the size doesn't matter" girls these people obviously keep meeting everywhere they go on their flashing escapades.

OMG.

Yesterday I voluntarily sat down to watch both Anne Robinson, Harry Hill and Paul Merton. Something has gone horribly wrong somewhere. OK, so the Mrs. Robinson thing was Outtake TV, which is semi-funny, and Harry Hill's TV Burp is actually rather humourous (but would have been so much better without that frighteningly annoying git), and Thank God You're Here isn't half bad. Still! I feel I'm starting to emulate my Saturday evenings back in Norway, when I actually sat down to watch the Saturday entertainment on the state channel every bloody week...and liked it.

I found my old websites yesterday, put away somewhere on my hard drive. There was some funny shit in there I am going to share with you (I am fond of recycling all sorts of things), but most of the best bits were in Norwegian, so if you don't know the language...well, you'd better start learning it quite quickly!

Earlier today I read the letters to the editor in The Stage from last Thursday and must say I agree with MJ Daniels, who says about La cage aux folles that "to write off all the performances that have gone before the official opening/press night is an insult to all the performers who have worked so hard"--especially considering it took six weeks of performances before the actual press night and of the three performances I have been to, the best ones were prior to that night. Kudos to the cast and crew for even keeping the production going, after all the misfortune it suffered in the beginning few months!

Labels: comedy, computers, humour, musicals, Norway, personal, philip quast, theatre, time wasting, TV

Moving People and Two-line Vocabulary are two of my favourite WLIIA games, and here are a few of the best I've seen:

Raptors on the loose (2 Line)
Operation on a mob boss (2 Line)
Head Feeder (2 Line)
Three outlaws in a shack (2 Line)
Fitting (Moving)
Tonto and the Lone Ranger (Moving)

Overheard on my way down to the tube platform the other day, two Americans:

She: "I hate stairs."
He: "What?"
She: "I said, I hate stairs."
He: "Really?"

How I wish he would only have asked her why, but no, it seems in his world it would be plausible to actually hate stairs, even though they are usually essential to ones mobility. I was fascinated by this extraordinary creature.

Heard later in the day, now actually on the tube:

Mum: "Say thank you to the man."
Kid: "Thank you, man!"

(Of course, this is probably something every parent has heard before, but I still think it's funny.)

Labels: comedy, humour, time wasting, TV