Blog 135: What A Super Man!

This is a letter I wrote, and actually sent, to Henry Cavill, the actor who played Superman in the latest Man Of Steel movie.

Dear Henry Cavill:

Hello Mr Cavill! My name is Mike Pasquale, and I’m just a person really.

I’m writing mainly to thank you. I’ve had a hairy chest for some time now, and it’s been ever so difficult going through life with it. A lot of fashion nowadays relies on men being very skinny, with little or no facial hair and certainly no more than a ‘treasure trail’ in terms of torso hair. The ordeal I’ve had to go through, endlessly buying t-shirts designed for very tall and scrawnier chaps, and the sheer social pressure to wax my lovely tummy-forest; it’s been very challenging.

I always knew that given time, the chance for more hirsute gentlemen to have their moment would come. The generation of girls who fancied Sean Connery has long ago grown up and got married, and I’ve grown up in the era of girls who instead chase Robert Pattinson and other similar people. Don’t get me wrong, they are very good looking fellas, but it makes it very hard for people like myself to join in with the fashion when I’d have to wax, and frankly, I don’t want to.

And so I want to thank you, as I believe you may be the figurehead of a new era which will end in a better world, where men with dense forests emblazoned upon their chest, like an S standing for Hope, will be held up as something for others to strive towards. Now that Superman himself is a hairier gentleman, how could anyone hold contempt for men like me, with our curls all over.

Well done for Superman, I thought you did very well in the movie, and you came across both very manly and also very super, which is ideal for that character really.

Sincerely, and thanks again!

Mike Pasquale

P.S. If you could do the next sequel and also be a bit overweight, not fat, just podgy, then that would also help me out a lot. Although, I’ll understand if that’s a bit trickier.

He hasn't replied yet.

Blog 134: Cinemagic? Cinemadness.

I bought a CineWorld unlimited card in September, and I've been going to the cinema loads since then, so I'm majorly surprised that it's taken me this long to experience and moan about nightmare co-cine-goers. Up until today, I think the worst experience was with a fat couple who came to see Ted on a date (to be fair, I was alone while they had each other so maybe they're doing something right). And that wasn't all that bad, after about 10 minutes into the film I got used to the scrunching of crisps, the heavy breathing and even the occasional loud and rumbling bum tremors.

But today I had a horrific time at the cinema, and it's not because I was watching the new evil dead movie. The other people in the cinema, by which I mean one other guy really, was a nightmare.

So the film wasn't that great, and I wasn't expecting it to be. It was an ordinary horror movie, not like your Silence of the Lambs or anything legendary, just a bog standard gory film with lots of blood and screaming. And I get that you don't need to be able to sit there and watch it properly, hanging off every word like you might watch movies like Lincoln or other Oscar winners. But still, people have paid good, hard earned money to see it, and so whatever your opinion on the movie, they might actually want to watch it properly and you should have respect. And I'd like to think that meant not eating really noisy foods like popcorn, but we'll forgo that because for some reason it's become traditional to eat crunchy snacks in cinemas.

But it should definitely mean you don't talk to your mates really loudly all the way through, like some were doing. But even worse was the guy who came in on his own.

Before I get him, I should make it clear I was there on my own, so I don't mind that.

I did mind how he strolled in with his 'trendy' fedora hat, which looked a bit out of place in a dark inside room, but said 'Hey look at me, everyone, look! I come to the cinema on my own but it's ok because I wear a fedora. Like a trendy person!' In he struts, looking excited for the film, looking proud with his coca cola and popcorn and his favourite metal band displayed all over his chest like a nippled screensaver. In he came and he sat down in the row in front.

The film starts up, there's a violent scene at the beginning then in comes the cliche'd horror cast of some teenagers into the cliche'd cabin in some nondescript wooded area and basically, one gets possessed by an evil and randy tree and then proceeds to kill everyone else. It was very gory, with people getting stabbed, limbs being chopped/torn off, faces being sliced off with bits of mirror, nail guns going through arms and legs and much more besides - there's both a machete AND a chainsaw involved in the last 10 minutes, for example.

So lots of people dying lots of gory deaths, and most people are sat in there, some kinda shouting in horror at nasty bits, some, like myself, quietly sat in the corner, occasionally flinching or jumping, and then Mr Rat Pack, Mr Metal Michael Jackson with his hat, well he was laughing. Really loudly, at all the gory dying bits. It's like he wanted to prove to everyone 'Look guys, I'm aware that this is a horror movie and all the trailers are saying it's really scary and terrifying but I'm definitely one hundred percent not scared. If anything, I find it pleasantly tickling when she has to sever most of her arm off with an electric knife and then let gravity pull the rest off.' It was REALLY annoying. I'm sure he wasn't scared, I'm sure he's always watching the old horror movies and has never been scared of anything ever, which is great. But I don't care and I don't want to know.

AND EVEN WORSE, he then decides to do a running commentary on the film. Now remember, there's another guy with his mate and they're talking incessantly throughout the movie, which is bad enough. But THIS guy, Frankie Fedora, he starts talking, and he's not even WITH anyone! He just decides to announce to the entire room his every thought about why the movie wouldn't work. When one character gets stabbed, shot with a nail gun about 30 times and then has his head smashed in with a crowbar (it really was a overly gory film) but then comes back to save the main character, here's Horror Movie Fan Number 1 "AHAHAHA, how is he still standing?" JUST SHUT UP. I can see it's not a realistic movie. I managed to work that out from the trailer, and even though I am quite a bright spark, I'm sure the rest of the cinema knew their lounge hadn't got massive, really dark, full of chairs and some strangers and they were watching the 10 o clock news. I really have no intention of listening to the inane chatter from someone with more crap spewing from their fedora-clad head than the evil vomiting demon in the film.

It's not the best movie ever. It's pretty terrible, in my opinion. But 100% I will always rather watch that movie than listen to another strange man's opinion on horror movies, or another strange man's aggravating chuckle.

I don't know if that man is reading this. I imagine he's probably not, but if he is I bet he's chuckling his way through and announcing his opinion to everyone else in the library about what he thinks of everything. But if he is reading, then take this on board, and don't laugh at it, don't comment on it, just let it phase its way through your stripy grey rimmed hat and through your thick skull into your pink and fluffy brain, and then change your life accordingly. If you can read this, Mr Fedora, JUST ALWAYS SHUT UP.

Blog 133: Snow Friend of Mine

Oh my word, I cannot believe I haven't blogged about this yet. Some of you may notice I used to blog a lot more than I do more recently. Maybe that's because I'm out of those awkward teenage years where I was terrified of talking to girls, or well, anyone, and how everything I said had to be carefully thought out for several days or weeks before...maybe years. There's girls out there who will testify to that. Or maybe it's because, oh I don't know, I've got a job and all of a sudden my life isn't a doss anymore, and any spare time I get I don't want to be sat at a computer moaning but in my bed or in the cinema or in the pub.

But genuinely, and here's a nice thought, I just think I'm a happier person. I think less things genuinely wind me up anymore. I still moan and rant around friends, but I'm usually joking and it's more because I like moaning rather than from genuine annoyance. To be honest, there's not many things that go on anymore that I wake up to and make me genuinely really annoyed.

But there is one thing.
And that's snow.

Snow is like one of those people who are absolutely brilliant when you first get to know them; they're interesting, they're different, they're exciting, fun, maybe even romantically intriguing. And I'd be the first to admit that a few years ago I used to love snow. Waking up to see snow lying there was always a great and magical moment. Snow was beautiful, snow was worth staying at home for. All I wanted to do was spend time with snow (I'm deliberately trying to dodge innuendo here - it'd be too easy to talk about how great it is to play with the snow or spend time in the snow or even make a snow man but I'd rather convey a purer love for the magic white powder). Of course, indirectly - snow meant no school, which was great, but even snow just in itself was something I truly loved.

But then the last few years, snow has become far too familiar. I'd wake up and there was snow. Snow which got in the way of work, of seeing other friends, of going out to places other than my house. Snow which meant things like jogging and going to the cinema were things that became far too irregular for my liking (ok, maybe not jogging). It began to affect my social life, my work life, and my enjoyment of all life. And that's when I realised I'd falled out of love with snow.

But now it won't go away. I'm waking up in March to find it's snowing like a maniac outside. To carry on the analogy it's like having a stalker, and then moving to Turkey to escape the stalker only to wake up one morning in Turkey and there's the stalker dancing naked like a maniac outside your window. And it's just not fun anymore.

Truth is I got fed up a couple of years ago when we had 4 snow days in one week. Day one, brilliant, went mad in the snow. Day 2, ok, played in the snow a bit then went inside. Day 3 and 4, just spent the days at home, guiltily wishing for school to start again.

And then the next year, snow got annoying at university, and starting playing havoc with me trying to get back up there by train.

And this year it went mad for ages, ruined work, then went away, tried to come back and ruin my birthday (and nearly bloody did - but thank goodness for determined friends - especially Trev, who deserves a mention for flipping off the snow in a bombastic car journey from Warwick to Leeds just to celebrate my 22nd) and now it's just coming back every now and then to wind me up. Yesterday afternoon, arriving back from London with a stinking cold and shivers because I was an idiot and 'too macho for a jumper' the night before, and then the snow came to try and kill me off at my weakest. And now this morning, there she is, mocking me as she falls from the sky. Look at you, she says, you wished me away and now you're all alone at your desk blogging and I'm outside having all this lovely fun. Snow is a right cow.

I really hope this isn't what marriage is like.

Blog 132: Channeled Aggression

I wrote this a couple of weeks ago, and was pretty annoyed, so didn't publish it. It's never a good idea to publish something you've just written in a foul mood. So instead I waited until I was feeling a bit more cheerful and published it anyway...enjoy!

So I've had a bit of a manic week. I bought a new computer, and without 'slandering' the make (although if i was to say that it didn't work, it would just be truth) after spending over £1000 on a computer and finding it didn't work, and after spending every waking minute on the phone to my ISP, the place I bought it from, and the people who made it, let's just say when it's still just a glorified CD player (new computers don't even have CD drives so I can't even watch a DVD on the damn thing) I was feeling a little bit like everything in the world could and should me my own personal punching bag.

Let's just say my phone is better than my super duper top of the range computer at the moment. And I won't tell you what computer it is, but if you have ever read the story of the Garden of Eden, you'll know that this isn't the first time that this (or a similarly named) product has led to all hell breaking loose.

So imagine, I'm in a foul mood, I've packed up the computer ready to take it back, I've had several annoying phonecalls (all week, but loads this morning too) with cheeky sods who sarcastically ask if I'm Mrs Pasquale, and I finally have to accept that for the time being I'm going to have to sit and do work on my really out of date family computer, which basically doesn't work (although still works better than the new one...grrrr).

So I will begin by apologising to the people who write for this thing that plasters itself all over my facebook called 'Independent Voices'. I get that basically, we're the same. We both sit in front of computers, getting angry at anything, and then write sarcastic little articles about it all day and put it up for anyone to see. I mean, I don't force it down QUITE as many people's throats - people can read it if they want, but they're not teased in with catchy headlines. They also don't read it under the pretense that it is a newspaper article, just to find out it is some middle aged old bag who's just angry at Jeremy Clarkson BASICALLY because she's STILL single and her cats aren't giving her the satisfaction she so desires. So there are differences; subtle yes, but differences none the less. And let's not forget they probably didn't have their new computer delivered last week to be on their desk doing nothing more than being broken. But basically I get that this might be slightly hypocritical.

Basically though, I really don't care. I don't care if Ms (let's be honest, miss) I. ProbablyCan'tSayHerName hates Jeremy Clarkson. I don't care if he's on her tele and she'd rather watch Loose Women or some other dreadful 'hey look we can be funny even though we're middle aged and not funny!' show. But basically, just because Jeremy Clarkson said a car looks like a person with facial growths, doesn't mean I care, or want him off the tele.

The article is about Jeremy saying controversial stuff and how the BBC are too scared to stand up to him. But let's be honest, no they're not. They're loving it. Because he says something a bit iffy, and the internet lights up with talk of Jeremy Clarkson and the BBC and Top Gear and all of a sudden, Ms Won'tBeNamed isn't an independent voice but indirectly working for BBC's marketing division. That's why they don't stand up to him; because he inspires people with nothing better to do to write all sorts and advertise their shows for free. So shut up.

I'm not even gonna start on how that's hardly the worst thing said on television. It's not insulting anyone specifically and if you've got a facial growth and you're offended then sorry, but maybe don't watch Jeremy Clarkson - there are literally thousands of channels to watch. Just don't watch him. Seriously don't. I can't understand how people can get this fed up over one man saying something potentially offensive when there's so much going on in the world that's a trazillion times worse. And don't point out that I didn't have to read her article, I clicked something ages ago that means the independent fires stuff at me on facebook and also in the top right corner of my browser window and have absolutely no idea how to turn them off.

I feel bad cos I've gone mental at poor Ms. Unnamed but it's not just her. There's tonnes of these Independent voices, who think everyone wants to know what they're saying and everyone should listen to them because they're somehow enlightened because they write for the independent website (even though it's only the comments section). There are some that write there and they think they're funny, and they're the worst. To her credit, at least Ms. CantBeNamed didn't try and be funny. I've read several others who find themselves hilarious and write under the guise of irony or sarcasm but clearly don't understand what they are and they are just annoying.

Man, I was annoyed that day. Good news is the computer's working all nice.

Blog 131: The Ad Dominizer, Part 4

Back again with more adverts that well annoy me. I wrote this about half a year ago, so sorry if it's a teeny bit out of date, but I figured I haven't written anything for ages so should probably publish something. Here's what you get.

16) The underdog one with Joe Pasquale, misuser of a brilliant surname. "Remember me?" Yes, you're that twonky 'comedian' with the worst voice in the world. That annoys me.

17) Ones for women's hygeine products. If all that really does have to happen, could you just not bring attention to it so I can carry on my lovely naive life. Ignorance truly is bliss.

18) "I don't really know how to put this." "I'm a bit worried" "Something has not been right for weeks". Make your minds up about what these people are most likely talking about...NOW. What did you think? I thought it sounded like people considering divorce or breaking up. "There's always a bit of...blood"...Huh? A slightly violent relationship? "Always loose...really loose..." Umm... "Blood in your poo or going more often with looser poo are often signs of bowel cancer"



That's the end for now. But it's not all bad. I like the Maccy D ads, the Guardian's 3 little pigs ad, Cadbury ads, the Skittles one where the guy can't touch anything. I guess what I'm saying is that I'm not entirely filled with hate.