Da Mystery of Chessboxin'

Arguably the best song ever. ODB & Ghostface's sections fucking SLAY.

Cause and Effect

In the conga line of cause and effect the only choice you will ever make is if you trudge along or dance. Dragging your cross like a dog on a walk, it was there I met you. Your regulation haircut, regulation consumer branded clothing and regulation step to the silent rhythm of society’s orchestra of drums. My regulation love at first sight.

A step isn’t a step at all in a line of people. You’re one metre further forward but you’re looking at the same view and relatively you’re in the same position you were before. It’s as if a sadistic puppeteer is marching you round in a circle finding the beat in the irony of triumph. We live in a world of people going nowhere and queuing up at traffic lights to make the same journey they did yesterday to no great avail. As we march round the corner their eyes always light up at their big break, new surroundings and chance to turn over a new leaf, but when you turn over the same leaf every time it’s never going to change and that step forward is always another stride on a stubborn treadmill.

Nobody heard the drums but you, as you jigged onwards like a dancer on a sinking ship. The beat did not hurt you like it did me, reminding me of my futility and reinforcing my meaninglessness at an unyielding master – it charmed you and in that beat you made music. In your eyes I found freedom; a man is never truly free until he accepts he has nothing to live for but the sake of living. And in your music I found love.

The paradox of limiting an emotion so pure to language so bordered and narrow has never escaped me, so I won’t patronise you with words that will fall and land so mortal. Everyone treks with their baggage on their back but when you’re free it feels a whole lot lighter. Free, we danced together in the conga line finding music in the unhalting drumbeat and over time we outgrew it. Over time we learned to clap on the off-beat and whistle alongside it. We learned to love in a military rhythm and eventually it didn’t matter that we were on a great voyage to nowhere in particular; it didn’t matter that we were on a package holiday with no landing time. Nothing mattered but us.

We danced along to the music of freedom, making it up as we went along and behind the solemn marchers we smiled like we had no chains to bear. While they stared at the bars holding them in, we stared in the gaps where the sun could peak through. Freedom is closing your eyes because when you close your eyes you could be anywhere; you could be free. Our eyes lost in each other, it didn’t matter if we were walking to nothingness or to everything because our love never changed and our gaze never averted to anything but ourselves.

As the great conga line marched themselves one by one off the cliff-edge we dropped hand in hand, completed, and fell away from the worldly abyss into each other’s arms to lay forever.

Further University Tips

See the first two posts here (I'll combine them all into one when I'm done)

http://adventuresofasuburbanstreetposse.blogspot.com/2012/03/tips-to-follow-before-going-off-to.html

http://adventuresofasuburbanstreetposse.blogspot.com/2012/03/more-university-tips.html]

4.) Flirt with the staff

Ladies and gentlemen, we live in a cynical world. A cynical, cynical world. You'd be surprised just how far you can get by being that little bit more charming and flirtatious. A smile certainly goes a long way, and saying hello when you see them on the way out of work or asking them how their day has been is a nice thing to do.

Except that's not all you want out of it, is it? I would estimate that I have charmed half the kitchen staff by this point which is noticeable around dinner time when I receive more food than everyone else. When I asked the lady if she'd had a haircut, she gave me twice as much steak pie as everyone else and on another occasion I was allowed one huge piece of steak which was clearly just two stuck together on her good word.

I also have a very amicable relationship with our cleaner, to the extent that I have her on Facebook and she once sent me 11 kisses at the end of a conversation. The benefits of this amicable relationship, beyond the chit chat in the hallway, make themselves known over time. Like when I was sat on the toilet and I hear her shouting 'Harvey, Harvey!' before she entered the bathroom and frantically told me that I'd left my tea upstairs in the kitchen and it was getting cold.

I believe it was Joey from Friends who once said that nothing we do is absolutely selfless; there is always that element of self-interest. Sure it's nice to be friendly, and smile at people - but it still gives you that warm fuzzy feeling, doesn't it? This world is full of selfish pricks only interested in getting that warm fuzzy feeling by giving money to charity or helping the elderly cross the road. The selfish cunts.

But if you are friendly with the people you will see every day in this student environment for the next year of your life, then good things will happen. Remember in Home Alone 2 where that crazy bird lady saves Macaulay Culkin's ass just because he was nice to her? That. Base all of your life morals on Home Alone 2.

5.) Don't engage in sexual intercourse with anyone you're living with

This isn't really my tip; it's something a friend told me before heading off to university. It makes sense though - you should never shit where you eat. And you should never have sex where you eat and shit because then you're all covered in shit and you have to eat it all up the next day, and on a scale of 1 to shit that's a solid H from Steps.

I heard a story that someone I know took a girl home on the first night of Freshers' and then when she went to leave the next morning she simply crossed the corridor and unlocked her own door. It's a mortifying story, and one which I would hate to happen to any of you guys because I care deeply about your welfare*. I live with 17 other people and it's a pretty close environment, even for those who try and keep to themselves. When you're in a living situation any awkwardness is heightened massively, because there's no respite and there's no hiding from them. If two people engage in a relationship and it ends badly, then shit is going to be thrown all around your block.

*readership

Of course, this should never stop the course of true love so you have to weigh up the options. When he or she starts grinding with you in the club on that first night of Freshers', think long and hard about whether you are going to marry that person; whether you are ready to have their child. If the answer is no, then scuttle off and take advantage of someone else. If the answer is yes, then by all means go for it.

6.) Become friends with clever people

A few weeks into my course, I saw someone sat in front of me who was not only recording the entire lecture, but making some real kickass notes at the same time. I thought to myself there and then that she was the one. The one I could steal notes off of for the rest of my degree.

Unfortunately I don't even remember what she looks like, but fortunately I have made some other intelligent friends to leech off of. They're a must-have accessory for any motivated student because when you miss that 9 o'clock lecture, you need to have that booty call on speed dial to steal the notes from. Over time your relationship may develop into more than a booty call - perhaps you will arrange study dates to go over that superhard lecture the other day where OH MY GOD I DIDN'T UNDERSTAND A WORD HE WAS SAYING :/ Or indeed you may be able to borrow their textbooks, steal their notes to pass as your own in tutorials or ask for help on coursework in the holidays.

It's a two-way street really; if you're too clingy then they'll catch you and find someone else to suck up to them. So you need to weigh it just about right and be there to help them when they're in need; when they arrive at your door in the pouring rain in tears over the upcoming tutorial, or when they ring you out of the blue and complain that they don't think their personal tutor looks at them in the same way he used to.

Some people don't want to be loved and this is particularly common in my degree, where I was once given the sincerest thank you I have ever received for letting someone peer over at my screen to copy up points the lecturer made that he couldn't catch. He then looked thankfully into my eyes, as if Jesus had just come down and given him a high-five, and told me that people rarely let him copy their notes and are very uptight about it. Gazing back with a look to ease his mind, like a parent tucking a child into bed letting them know that the bullies at school will give up and they will be OK, I told him that it was 'no worries'. In that split second my degree flashed before my eyes; I questioned my purpose in life, in academia, in B62 - the lecture room I was in at the time. I asked myself if there really was such a thing as 'love' or if it were simply a fairytale made up to help you sleep at night, like Cinderella or The Exorcist.

OK, I did none of that - but the point remains that you should steal people's notes. It can be a joint venture but in the end everything's much easier if you help each other out. But follow my advice and try and make that 'help' more one-sided in your favour.

The Big Hack

A gritty, hard-boiled crime short story featuring the famous private detective Philip Marlowe.

Chapter One

I pulled up outside the house in Brentwood, California and lit myself a smoke. This would be my last chance before I got inside, so I was lucky his drive was very, very big. It was a house like any other in the neighbourhood – large, impeccably well-kept, and reeking of affluence. I was used to dealing with this. With caution, I kept smoking even after I’d knocked on the door and a polite butler had answered. Once he saw me, without a word, he disappeared, and then turned up once more around a minute later, with a bucket full of water. He daintily reached out and took my cigarette, throwing it in there. This was irritating, but I kept my trap shut as we walked into the living room.

The old man sat in his big chair, wizened like a rotted prune. His eyes surveyed me. I remained silent; he looked like the kind of guy who’d want to speak first.

“Philip Marlowe” he extended his hand. It was skeletal, but I shook it and it made it out intact “pleased to meet you, at last.”

He spoke with the broad dialogue of an Australian or New Zealander, seasoned with Americanisms.

“And you, sir. Whaddya want?” I cut to the chase

“Well, as you may be aware, I run an international company, specialising in printing and broadcasting news.”

“Yeah.”

“ Well, mate, we’ve got a job for you.”

“I guessed so, that’s why I’m here.”

“Right, right...we want you to get some hard facts down on a few people...”

His phrasing was vague. I decided it was time I ask questions.

“How many you talking?”

“You know, nothing big, 6,349 or so.”

“Yeah?” I was very curious by this point, envisioning the paycheck.

 “Yeah. We heard you’re the best private investigator this side of a bent cop. We’ll fax you the list...we want you to uncover some info on these people.”

“Should be easy enough. I’ll start off with some simple tail jobs.”

He laughed.

“No, no, Philip, mate, this is the twenty-first century. You won’t even have to leave the office!”

“What you saying?”

“What you’ve gotta do is...you use the telephone a lot, Marlowe?”

“Sure, if I don’t call my local dive they wonder where I am.”

“Well, you’ll be familiar with the concept of the answerphone, then. We want you to listen to people’s voicemails. Then the sensational results will be published in one of our British papers...” he chuckled, as if describing his newspaper as such was a stretch “...to distract our readership from the incredibly poor quality of journalism they’re reading.”

“Is this ethical, y’think, Mr Murdoch?” I asked him. His spirits were raised once more.

“Like I give a fuck! So long as we get a few juicy scoops about who soccer players are fucking besides their equally famous wives, we’ll be rolling in the dough!”

When I got home, my pocket was stuffed with dollar bills. I filled myself with whiskey and listened to the personal conversations of the families of 7/7 victims.

Chapter Two

My door crashed open so loud the Soviets could’a heard it. I placed the phone down, abruptly curtailing the fascinating account of extra-marital sodomy I was hearing a member of the British cabinet describe. The man who had entered my office, armed to the teeth, was the popular cinema actor Hugh Grant.

“Hey, friend, I’m tellin’ you this is a private office. If you wanna see me you book an appointment or speak to Louiso the bartend...”

“Speak no more, witless knave!” Grant got in my face “Lest I decorate the bloody walls with your brains.”

“ Well, I s’pose that’d be one way of making the walls bloody.” I countered

He replied in a manner as bland, long-winded and generally shitty as just about every motion picture he’s ever acted in. I didn’t really concentrate.

“Get to the point.”

“I may be a dashing debonair fop who appears in Richard Curtis films, but I’m no fool. I know you’ve been listening to my voicemails.”

“Suck my asshole you British cunt” I said, losing my patience

As he recoiled from the language he’d consider risqué, I edged forward and punched him in the nose. He fell to the floor, just after the piece fell out of his hand onto my desk, so I grabbed it and stood up. I walked around the perimeter of the desk, training the gat’s vision towards Grant, and beckoned at him to stand up. He did, shakily.

“Listen, buddy, I’m a pretty collected guy but I’ve got a short fuse at the best of times. I’m just doing a bit of investigative journalism for the News of the World. There’s nothing to it. You better back off or I’ll drive you down to the river and give you two in the back of the head.”

“You’ll never get away with this, Marlowe!” he yelled, like the archetypal British villain he probably isn’t, but has portrayed on-screen in the past “Haven’t you heard? Today is 7^th July 2011. It's the day the last ever edition of the News of the World is published!”

I pushed him out of the window of my 6^th floor office.

Chapter Three

It was February the 26^th 2012. I sat in my office smoking some Camels and drinking my coffee. It had been a slow few months for work. Suddenly, my long-retired telephone started buzzing. I picked up.

“Marlowe? This is Rupert. When I ring off, ready this phone at once. Today...the Sun On Sunday is born!”

More University Tips

For the first two tips, follow this link: http://adventuresofasuburbanstreetposse.blogspot.com/2012/03/tips-to-follow-before-going-off-to.html

Now, let's rock this shit.

3.) Tesco value

When going to university, it's vital to quickly realise that you are worth very little. I believe it was Loreal who once said 'you're worth it', well forget them - you're not. When you're living on a budget, 17p Tesco value no sugar Coke is all that you are worth. Tesco value 40% scotch for £9.79 is all that you're worth. Stolen pints left outside the bar and drinks blackmailed off of friends are all that you are worth.

I have a great* theory on all of this. When you're living on a budget, it's important not to kid yourself as being worth any more than the pathetic little creature** you are. In the first semester we bought 500 teabags from Sainsbury's for under £2 to cover our tea expenses for the next few months because we are realists. We know that we're not worth Waitrose fancy stuff - that's not on the cards for us (to paraphrase Ryan Gosling in The Notebook). Saving money and not getting used to the taste of slightly better tasting food and drink means that your expectations are lower from the offset - and you have more money to spend on booze and footballs and stuff (to desperately attempt to regain any masculinity following on from my Notebook reference).

*dubious

**student

If you're used to living the middle class dream, stepping down to the Tesco value reality is never going to feel right; it will never satisfy you. But if you never get used to that dream in the first place, falling down to reality won't hurt you. So here I preach onto the masses, who shall from here on be referred to as 'my followers on Twitter': don't aspire for anything. Don't reach for your 'dreams' and don't try and be more than you are. Dreaming is a dangerous business; you don't want to end up like Leonardo DiCaprio in Inception where the only way you can taste your beloved Twinings tea is by hopping on the dream machine and getting your dead wife to make it for you.

I am essentially the prisoner in Plato's allegorical cave and I am satisfying myself by watching the shadows on the wall rather than breaking free from my chains, stepping outside and seeing the sky, but what Plato didn't tell you is that there's a man on the toll-booth outside charging visitors. I implore you all to come back into the cave, forget about that pretty outside world and join me in getting chained up - and after we're done hopefully I can convince you to start buying the cheap Supermarket stuff instead too.

I don't care how much your mum says you're special, Brad Pitt says you're not. Brad Pitt says drink Tesco value whisky and steal unattended drinks. Brad Pitt says fuck corporate fast food and stay in eating 11p noodles. Brad Pitt says steal babies from Africa and leave a far more attractive girlfriend to marry Angelina Jolie. Matt Damon says: 'Matt Damon'.

You're not special. Buy Tesco value: because you're worth nothing more.

Blog post sponsored by Tesco.

Anticipated-as-shit movies of 2012

There are certain motion pictures on the way that I for one cannot contain my excitement about. With very few of these having yet seen release, this is all dependent on who is involved in the making of them, and it seems many of my favourite fillmakers will deliver something in 2012 that will hopefully be worthwhile, or completely kickass and awesome. These films are as follows;

Django Unchained
Written & Directed by Quentin Tarantino
Tarantino's next film will be a Western starring Jamie Foxx, Leonardo DiCaprio, Christoph Waltz, and other actors who are mostly famous and such. Those familiar with the writer/director's last picture, Inglourious Basterds - in my opinion a delightfully trashy, funny and suspenseful film - will remember Waltz as Colonel SS Hans Landa and will no doubt relish the decision to cast him as a German bounty hunter alongside Foxx's titular role. Although, having read the first few pages of the screenplay, one could arguably dismiss this as Tarantino's latest attempt to cram the word "nigger" into his actors' mouths as many times as humanly possible, I personally cannot wait for the man's regular concoction of awesome violence, profane dialogue and rad, hyper-referential direction.

Nero Fiddled
Written & Directed by Woody Allen
Although Midnight Paris is inarguably (that is, if you agree with everything I say) the best film of 2011, it lacks something synonymous with the very best Woody Allen films; the auteur (what a shithouse of a word) himself as the lead, or at least a supporting actor. Continuing to romanticise Europe in the same "grass is always greener" way that I aspire to live the American Dream, Woody has set Nero Fiddled in Rome, as the title would suggest. And, yes, he stars in it, for the first time since 2006's abhorrently under-appreciated Scoop. 

The Counselor
Written by Cormac McCarthy
Directed by Ridley Scott
Fuck Gladiator up the ass. No doubt that, while Blade Runner is a classic, Ridley Scott is a bit of a hack. As such, there is no reason to look forward to The Counselor...apart from the fact CORMAC MOTHERFUCKING McCARTHY is writing the motherfucking god ass fucking damn shittin' screenplay. For those of you thinking "so what, these are the movies we're talking about, it's not as if the guys who actually come up with the stories, painstakingly transcribe their thoughts onto page, and present the directors with all the dialogue and directions one could need to make a film actually matter" bear in mind that McCarthy's last two novels were "No Country For Old Men" and "The Road" - both classics.

Moonrise Kingdom
Written by Wes Anderson & Roman Coppola
Directed by Wes Anderson
To realise why I'm so pumped for the next Wes Anderson film, simply survey his filmography or look at its cast. Well, its adult cast anyway. The two main characters are 12-year-old kids, who will probably be excellent because this is Wes fucking Anderson we're talking about. Anyway, that cast we were talking about;  usual Anderson collaborators Bill Murray & Jason Schwartzman, along with Bruce Willis, Frances McDormand, Edward Norton, Tilda Swinton and Harvey Keitel. Probably the best ensemble he's assembled since, uh, well, his last film; Fantastic Mr Fox.

The Great Gatsby
Written by Baz Luhrmann & Craig Pearce (from the novel by F. Scott Fitzgerald)
Directed by Baz Luhrmann
I didn't give a shit about this adaptation until I heard that Carrie Mulligan has been cast as Daisy Buchanan. Perfect casting of the highest order.

The Dictator
Written by Sacha Baron Cohen, Alec Berg, David Mandel and Jeff Schaffer
Directed by Larry Charles
Although Bruno was an unexceptional, vaguely irritating failure (I would criticise it for what could be perceived as homophobia, but I'd consider that hypocritical with regards to my enjoyment of his more racially-themed humour),  the fact still remains that Sacha Baron Cohen and Larry Charles' first collaboration, 2006's Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan, was one of the funniest movies of the 2000s. Seemingly an obscene satire of modern-day autocrats, which is funny enough, a further reason to go and see the Dictator is the fact that the authors of its screenplay (aside from Baron Cohen himself, obviously) are also employed by Larry David as Curb Your Enthusiasm's staff writers. The director has history with the programme too and so, as David will likely not make another season until 2013, this film will be the closest one can get to its brilliant humour.


The Dark Knight Rises
Written by Christopher & Jonathan Nolan
Directed by Christopher Nolan
Batman is fucking cool as fuck.

Not Fade Away
Written & Directed by David Chase
Guys, David Chase created The Sopranos. As such, everyone in the world, even if they're dying of a rare genital super-virus or spending their joyless days in a Brazilian slum, should go and see Not Fade Away. I believe this is a 1960s coming-of-age story or suchlike. Good. It's been too long since we heard from Chase.

Additionally;

• James Bond: Skyfall (Sam Mendes)
• Savages (Oliver Stone)
• Cogan's Trade (Andrew Dominik)
• Argo (Ben Affleck)
• Marley (Kevin MacDonald)
• Inside Llewellyn Davies (Joel & Ethan Coen) - especially this one
• The Master (Paul Thomas Anderson)

Tips to follow before going off to university

I haven't been present on this blog for a while because I've been too busy being consumed, or perhaps more fittingly, devoured by my degree and all that generic 'look at me I'm at university' riff raff. So to make this up to you all (and because I have no inspiration on what else to write) I decided that I'd do a blog on tips for you all to follow before going off to university, from my own experience. My theory is that if I start blogging loads of pointless crap, eventually I'll get into some sort of rhythm and spurt out the occasional gem. I believe that Nickelback have been using this very method for the past 15 years, but rather less successfully.

I don't know how up to date you all are with my life at university, because apparently I don't mention it enough, but I am indeed doing a law degree* at the University of Nottingham**. I'm living in catered halls in a single study room and all in all am having a pretty ace time.

* law degree (noun): a scheme pioneered by UCAS and the government to filter out the most pretentious students from other degrees which they may otherwise have considered. Marketed as highly prestigious and opening doors to some of the highest paid professions in the country, students are often so busy wallowing in their own pretension that they fail to realise that essentially this is merely an elaborate segregation scheme to make the country a better place.

see: 'lawyers' - a fabricated profession holding vast amounts of capital for not doing much at all. The legal profession was a follow up to the law degree fabricated by the government in the 1950s: once they realised that these law students would eventually graduate, they had to find a way to continue the systematic segregation in keeping their smugness away from the rest of society. Unfortunately, the rest of the country fell for the hoax as well and these people are currently often earning £80,000 p/a by the age of 27.

**University of Nottingham: not Trent.

Anyway, enough ironically pretentious anti-pretension bravado, down to the nitty gritty (as I believe the miners said each morning before heading off to work).

1.) Take fuckloads of socks and underwear with you

I'm not sure who invented socks and underwear, but whoever they are they're a real asshole. When you're at home and your parents do all your washing for you, you [me (from now on assume 'you' as an extension of 'me'; pretending/hoping that your outlook corresponds to mine to make me feel less out of sync/foolish)] fail to comprehend that these are the items of clothing that get worn most, and thus go into the washing basket most quickly.

In my first term, I think I took about 7 pairs of underwear with me, and an 8th pair which are Superman boxers taken with the sole intent of being available for any potential fancy dress activities. The result of this was that whilst I still had more than enough chinos (alas, they have now all fallen to shreds; a pre-emptive metaphor of the faux-hipster empire*) and shirts to last me another week, I had only my (real fucking uncomfortable) Superman boxers to wear with them. Seeing this, when I went back home last term I took up more underwear with me so that I could last longer in between washes, finally seeing an end to my perennial frustration of premature soiling of underwear. I am assured that this is a common problem.

*infestation

2.) Buy loads of ace posters to decorate your room with

First impressions are everything, so the knack here is to completely pretend to be someone you're not (ideally someone better) to impress anybody who dares enter your abode of love* and productivity**. In my room I have a Radiohead poster, a kick-ass poster of Jim Morrison's beautiful face, a random poster of loads of rappers and an N.W.A poster. They each have their individual purposes beyond me actually liking them and I will tackle these in the aforementioned order.

*masturbation

** masturbation

Radiohead poster: this poster shows that I'm a real cunt. Namely a hipster cunt, but I have come to realise that essentially both phrases mean exactly the same thing. The reaction this immediately produces to the viewer is one of inadequacy, which is exactly the feel you're looking to convey to any invitees entering your room because it means you're already half way there on the task of emotionally grinding them down so that you can have sex with them.

Jim Morrison poster: this poster shows that I'm into the classic 60s stuff. It's also sufficiently psychedelic to allude to the fact that I might be a major pothead, which is cool because then they think I'm really hardcore and break the law and stuff. If you see someone looking at your own psychedelic 60s poster a good thing to do at this point in time would be to throw some rubbish on the floor or kick an inanimate object to show that you just don't care and have no respect at all for authority, whether it's the cleaners or inanimate objects.

Rappers poster: this shows I'm into hip hop, which is good because I've already covered pretentious indie music and classic 60s stuff in my previous posters. It also shows that beneath my scrawny white boy exterior, I'm really just a Chuck D-idolising black kid crying to get out - a bit like Michael Jackson, just the other way round.

N.W.A poster: this basically just reinforces my broadness in musical variety and the other conveyance that I may indeed be a massive badass.

Once you've covered all of these areas sufficiently in your poster collection, you have now furnished your room into the room of a black, hipster, musically broad teenager with no respect for authority - in other words, someone better than you.

Now obviously this image won't last for long. But it gives you time to become cool while your flatmates are still operating under the illusion that you're this super badass. Further, any course friend you invite to your room will also be bombarded with all these messages, and their image of you may be distorted.

I've just realised how much space I've already taken up with these first two tips, so I'll have to finish this off some other time. Stay tuned for more of Harvey's university tips.