Blog 121: Astro-Nots

So, I'm in third year. The last year of my course. And guess what! They're actually giving us work and it ALSO seems relatively worth doing! So there's nothing that could possibly wind me up about my course anymore. OH WAIT.

You know Godzilla, right? You know how angry he was at the Japanese for some reason. Well I'm like, 70 times angrier than him right now.

Our 'workshop' today was on copy writing, and it was by a woman who I won't name, but is a professional copy writer. This has nothing to do with copyrights, it's basically the writing behind advertising, or a brand's tone of voice. Now this woman had given us a lecture before, on the importance of spelling and - and read this carefully - grammer. So I had my doubts about how useful this workshop would be.

Well, at first, the slideshow she had seemed relatively useful, although it could have just been sent online and I could have, well, not watched it, but pretended to have done so and watched Die Hard 2 instead. It's what came AFTER the slideshow that worried me.

We had a series of tasks: the first was to describe the bedrooms of three celebrities: Stephen Fry, Kate Moss and Brad Pitt. Here were my descriptions:

Brad Pitt's bedroom: Jennifer Anniston's in the corner, crying.

Stephen Fry's bedroom: Quite Interesting.

Stephen Fry's bedroom: It's painted pink, but that's not gay. Oh wait, it is.

Kate Moss' bedroom: Mind you don't trip over Pete, he's nearly dead on the floor.

Kate Moss' bedroom: Smells like whore!

Kate Moss' bedroom: Where's her make up drawer? Oh, there it is. All over her face.

Kate Moss' bedroom: So big it's like finding an overly skinny model in a haystack.

Turns out I got the wrong idea, and I literally had to describe their room. Like Kate Moss' room is pink with cushions on the bed and a dress on the floor. Creative.

The Next task was even better. Three students pretended to be returning Astronaut's, one Russian and the others supposedly British, from a 24 year trip to mars and back. The rest of us were journalists and we had to ask questions, like a press conference. We then had to make notes.

This wasn't a real space trip. Yet somehow I've got half a page of notes on what happened when they went to Mars, as if it was real. I wasted actual time, paper, energy and sanity on something that definitely didn't happen. They told us that their test-monkey, Brian, had died. I wrote in my book, "Brian died". I actually wrote it as if it really happened.

What's more, none of it made any sense? So, assuming the two other astronauts are English, as we weren't told otherwise, and they left 24 years ago, so 1987, well I'm pretty sure the British weren't in Space by then. A quick check on Google (Google chrome just told me to spell check google) tells me the first Brit in space was in 1991. So that's balls.

Maybe they're American. That seems logical, Neil Armstrong was the first on the moon, so it's logical that the first man on Mars in the 1980s was probably American. Obviously, ignore the context of world history in the 1980s, that massive thing called the COLD WAR, where Russia and America didn't get on. Because if we took that into account, they probably wouldn't have teamed up to send people to Mars at all. So we'll ignore it, otherwise the astronaut story looks like it's made up, which of course, it definitely is.

It was also clear that the "astronauts" in question were just saying something funny to all our questions. So in now way was this productive. We basically took notes, for an HOUR, on three people pee-ing around and everything they said.

The third task was, to sum it up, act as if we were sexists. Conclusions from the 3rd task was that if you are a man you could be a teenager, a 'city boy' (banker, for normal people), an astronaut, or a sports person (athlete, for normal people). If you're a woman you can be a WAG or a mum. So that's nice. We then had to think about how to sell deodorant to an astronaut.

So many things wrong with that one. So, even assuming Astronauts have a shower, bearing in mind how much energy it takes to send mass into space, I really don't think, in any world, that astronauts turn up with their little wash bags full of Colgate and Lynx. I assume that IF, IF they have deodorant, it's supplied by NASA or whatever organisations sending them up there.

Can I also point out how long space missions are? YEARS. So how much deodorant do they take with them? Again, bearing in mind how much energy it takes, I doubt their sending them up with stacks of Right Guard in the boot.

Also, there's like 3 Astronauts in the country? It's not the biggest demographic? What company decides, right, gap in the market THERE'S NO DEODORANT FOR ASTRONAUTS! SELL SELL SELL!!! Nobody. Because nobody would ever make any profit from that, ever. It would be better to just go to tesco, buy some deodorant for say, £2.50 that already exists, take it to the astronauts and go here you go, it's £3.00. £1.50 profit, thankyou very much, job done, have fun in space, see you later.

Not to mention the difficulty's for advertising... It's expensive enough hiring a billboard on the motorway, let alone one floating around on an asteroid.

I've done a little poster for you, just to shake things up a bit.

http://s3.amazonaws.com/data.tumblr.com/tumblr_lsls5w7tWt1qcvccko1_1280.jpg?AWSAccessKeyId=AKIAJ6IHWSU3BX3X7X3Q&Expires=1317921637&Signature=Lgvg5vEt56Jjjs4%2F3CCwZ%2FG1fFs%3D

Laters guys, take care x

Blog 120: Stupid B*tch

So I'm currently looking after a psycho dog and her owner's house. She's part alsatian, and then part something else, maybe greyhound or those lassie dogs...Something like that. But, to put it shortly, she's massive. When she jumps up on her hind legs she's as tall as me, and obviously, as she's a dog, she's way more powerful and dangerous than I am too.

However, she's also way less intelligent than me. She's clever for a dog - she can even open doors - but I'm clever for a human so I trump her intelligence-wise (well done Mike).

She's a bit naughty...the past two days I've come home from work to find that she's shredded socks, cartons of tomatoes, packs of pasta and then done a wee all over the bedroom carpet. So I've had to tell her off. I also have to tell her off when she 'play' bites (did you know the bite of a german shepherd has a force of 238 pounds?) and when she jumps up.

But if she was to figure out that she's actually way stronger than me, then I'm in trouble. When I tell her off, something in my mind says "This dog would own you if it was to get fed up of being told off..." I'm half expecting her to come upstairs while I sleep and put a pillow over my face and smother me until I pass away. Or maybe the owners will return to find half of me on the kitchen floor with the dog chewing away at my liver or other vital organ.

Before I go, here are some more facts that have given me a general impression of what German Shepherds and Alsatians are like throughout my life.

German Shepherds are a large sized dog, generally between 55 and 65 cm at the withers (shoulders) and weight between 22 and 40 kg. They have a domed forhead, a long square muzzle and a black nose. The jaws are strong, with a scissor-like bite.

An Australian report from 1999 shows German Sheperds are the third breed most likely to attack a person.

In the United States, one source suggests that German Shepher Dogs are responsible for more reported bitings than any other breed.

The bite of a German Shepherd has a force of over 238 pounds, compared to a human's puny 86.

They are not inclined to become immediate friends with strangers.

Bear those facts in mind.

Today I took her for an extra 20 minutes on her walk to try and tire her out so she can't get up to mischief... and she did seem to get tired. Now although she's a naughty dog, she's a good natured one, and so when we came across two massive alsatians, and I mean bigger than her massive. One of the alsatians stayed with the owner, the other one came charging and barking towards me and Luna.

So here comes this metre tall, 40 kilo dog, pounding towards me, snapping and barking it's strong, scissor like jaws in the most aggressive manor one can imagine, running straight for Luna. I hold her back, and the owner of the mad dog says "Don't worry it's just barking, it's fine."

He's now right in Luna's face, she's cowering, and then he goes to either bark right by her face, or what I saw as a snap. So there's a dog about to bite Luna, the owner, she's yelling "Stop, stop" and this massive monster just not listening. So I pull Luna just out of his way, and she ducks behinds my all of a sudden weedy looking legs. The dog continues to bark and snarl. So I hold out my figure, and firmly say NO.

The dog stops. Thing is with dogs, and I learnt this recently when we were training our new puppy Archie and when looking after Mac, the THING with dogs is that if you are firm with them, they listen. The crazy uncontrolled dogs you see are always the product of fuzzy wuzzy owners who love and spoil their dogs too much, and so it knows it can do whatever it likes without getting told off, so acts like a dog. If you're firm with them, they'll listen. So I firmly said NO without showing any signs of being scared, and the dog instantly stopped.

THEN, the owner comes over and she tells me off! She says "Alright, I can control my dogs, not you", sneering out of her stupid little face. "Can you?" I said, and walked off with poor ickle (yet still annoying for ripping my tomatoes) Luna.

THE CHEEK! Obviously, you can't control your dog, because it was barking and snapping and snarling at me and my dog. It's a huge dog, to have it walking around lead-less and snapping at everything is irresponsible and out of order, what if it attacked some children? So, I stopped it because I felt Luna was threatened, and she clearly felt threatened too. I didn't kick it, I didn't hit it, I didn't stab it in it's beady blood-lusting eyes, I just said NO, and it stopped. So don't tell me you can control your dog when you can't, and I have to do it for you.

Now you just have to figure out which character the title refers to :P

Blog 119: Holiday Diary 5

Spinazzola - Day 7 or 8

“SEX ISN’T THE MOST IMPORTANT THING! You are...”
That’s the lovely line at the end of American Pie 5, followed by the one who says this having sex with the one he says it to, so it’s instantly undermined by boobies, just like everything else in the world really.

That’s what I’m watching now by the way, and can I say that it’s the best part of my day, other than perhaps the drive to where we visited.

We went to Matera. For those of you who’ve seen the Passion of the Christ, (and I haven’t), Matera’s where it was filmed. And there’s literally nothing there. So that was my day today. Visiting a place where literally nothing ever happened. Jesus didn’t die there, but someone pretending to be him pretended to die there. That’s all. Also, Mel Gibson probably walked around there a bit.

And we saw where that went down.

Blog 118: Holiday Diary 4

Spinazzola - Day 6, probably?

So I have no idea what day we’re on. I think yesterday we went to a swimming pool with slides in, which was fun. I met some Canadians, and I asked them “What brings you guys out here in the middle of nowhere then?” meaning, why are you here and not someone where there’s loads to do, they answered “Vacation”. I didn’t speak to them again.

Today we walked around town a bit then had dinner with the extended ffffaaaammmmiiiillllyyyy. I realised there’s a band in Spinazzola that never stops playing. Literally. Just walks around all the time playing songs in their smart costumes playing songs non-stop. You have to be really mindful where they are in relation to you. If you’re in the street and you hear the band start playing behind you, then run, because if they catch you, the Tubas suck you in, because they don’t get any other chance to eat.
That’s all that’s happened today. I’m understandably bored.

Blog 117: Not Yorkshire

Some of my friends from Yorkshire joined a facebook group saying everywhere that isn't Yorkshire should just be called Not Yorkshire. If I lived in somewhere that wasn't Yorkshire, (which I do) I would be really proud. So yes, call it Not Yorkshire.

Please don't stop reading my blog if you are from Yorkshire...

Blog 116: Holiday Diary 3

Spinazzola - Day 4

You may have figured out there’s no pattern as to which day I write this li’l travel journal on. Obviously, 1,3,4, isn’t a pattern, probably. And if it is, then I’m not intending it. It’s literally when I have nothing else to do.

As I implied yesterday, today was spent milling around in the house watching films. Somehow I’ve managed to eat two peaches, which, put together were literally the size of my head. I’ve also managed to only watch 2 films between 10am and 6.30pm. I watched American Pie 2 followed by The Hills Have Eyes. Because you really needed to know that. I’m also about halfway through The Restaurant At The End Of The Universe, the sequel to The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Universe. I wish Douglas Adams didn’t have such long book names. Unfortunately I don’t own a copy of Life, the Universe and Everything to read once this book’s finished.

I’ve also spent a large segment of my day worrying and pondering. I’ve worried about how I’ve done NO work towards my dissertation, even though I’ve had no time to do that work at all ever this holiday. I’ve also pondered and worried about how silly I can be. And furthermore, I’ve pondered how best to get the circular metal object off the chimney across the street and into my possession.

Some of you may have seen the new Captain America movie. I’m not going to pretend it’s as good as Thor was, or that it’s a must see, but it’s not bad. And the circular object across the street looks EXACTLY like his shield, minus the paint job.

So I want it. Simples. And I’ve tried to work out the most efficient and safest way to get it. I’ve taken photographs of the item and the surrounding area, I’ve done the maths, the science. And at the moment I can see three possibilities.

1) Get a massive ladder and climb up the building opposite and take it. Problems? People will definitely see. And seeing as I don’t technically own the item, that may be a problem. Even more so, I don’t own the building...

2) Construct a structure from wire culminating in a coathanger. The item has bits of wire attached, all of which loop back to the item and form lovely li’l twisty bits I can hook onto, like hooking ducks at a fair (that’s not a euphemism) or hooking chicks in a club (that is). If I was to create a huge wire stick thing and hook it, I can probably either pull it back to my rooftop, or at least knock it to the ground. Problems? Knocking it to the ground might kill my nan if she’s outside, and then how am I gonna eat? Also, the only wire in the area is supporting the aerial. If I take the wire down, the whole thing might collapse.

3) Jump to the other roof. It’s definitely doable. It’s about 2 metres away, but also 2 metres lower. The roof tiles don’t look real sturdy but there’s a whole patch where there aren’t any roof tiles! Problems? There’s no way of getting back. I’ve surveyed the surrounding landscape and the only way would be through someone’s house.

And so for the rest of this evening I shall be plotting. In fact, until I get the damn thing, that’s my holiday plans sorted.

Blog 115: Holiday Diary 2

Spinazzola - Day 3

So after 2 days at the beach we had a mahooosive lie in on day 3. We were in bed til 8.30!!! My parents are such squares.

And then we stayed home for a bit. Me and my sister watched Monsters Inc followed by half of Carrie, then we all had lunch and went to the swimming pool, which was nice because it was basically empty, and has green grass! ACTUAL GREEN GRASS.

But we began to slowly realise that the people who worked at the pool were horrifying racists. At first when I caught one of the gorgeous pool attendant ladies looking my way I thought, hello, this is good! Then I remembered my Mum and Dad were with me so left it well alone. And when they asked everyone to join in the darts and volleyball games, they left us out because they figured out that we were pasty white English people.

In the evening me and my brother went for a prowl, see who’s who and what’s going down. Well, literally nothing is going down, except DJ Fox was blasting out some blazin’ tarantella and the oldies were gettin’ jiggy wi’it. So we sat on a bench, looking for people our age to hang out with. Literally. Nobody. I’m glad I brought my laptop now.