So, due to large amounts of popular demand, here comes the next dream of note:
It all started out with me and a buddy of mine staying over at an old friend's place, a friend who for some reason were really bloody annoyed by our presence there. Apparently, we had disturbed him in his sleep, so we were just lying in our bed (yes, that's singular, don't ask me why!) and pretending to sleep when he came and checked up on us in a rather foul mood.
Next thing I knew, we were visiting my buddy's girlfriend, and somehow some kind of argument erupted, and my buddy took his leave of us, and I was left at gunpoint from my old friend, who wanted me to come along outside and get into his car. Noteworthy is also the fact that at this point, the girlfriend of my buddy was in cahoots with him. I had also picked up a nice little rock with a fossil in it that I asked him if I could keep, upon which he took it and threw it on the ground to break it, but I still picked it up, and since he had discarded it, it would not be considered theft if I took it as my own, which I then did.
Now, me never being one to enjoy being threatened with a gun, I took the chance as he was stepping into the car to make a run for it. Fortunately, he was a very short guy, so buy crouching down, I stayed out of his view since he couldn't see over the cars that were between us.
As fast as I could, I ran around a corner, then yet another corner, in order to lose him. At this point, I decided to run into one of the apartment buildings to try and evade him in there, as I knew he was driving around trying to find me. It just so happened there was a hospital in that particular building, and instead of asking anyone in there for help, I ran down to another floor and out of the building, only to manage to sneak into yet another one at the same time as the guy with the gun arrived on the scene, thus he never spotted me, and I was relatively safe.
But, still wanting to evade him even further, I continued moving away from where I thought he was, and I came to a big road, which I tried unsuccessfully to cross. Then a lady came up and spoke to me, but what it was she said isn't told in this story.
Moving further away from the town center, I realized I could use my cellphone to call my buddy for help. Problem is, he was very depressed, and refused to help me since he wanted to stay loyal to his girlfriend, who was, as was explained earlier, working together with the jerk with the gun. He also told me his mother was on antidepressants, something I thought made sense, and that she was so addled by the drugs that the two had had sex, which somehow made their relationship so special that he couldn't possibly help me out.
Hey, stop rolling your eyes, this is my dream!
I had now arrived at a very beautiful suburb to the city I was in, and I tried calling my cousin to get a lift home. Problem is, I had no idea what city it was, only that it was somewhere in the vicinity of Stockholm, so I tried asking a classmate from high-school, a girl who I had once had a big crush on, but she acted all dismissive, and just told me that the name of the city was "Vanessa".
See, that made sense, didn't it?
Well, that's all she wrote, fortunately no more happened after that, because I'm getting tired of writing it down! Ha!
torsdag 3 december 2009
onsdag 2 december 2009
Dreams and yet dreams!
Finally, I have in the scope of three nights had a grand total of two dreams actually worth mentioning, IE aren't boring as all hell.
Here's the first one:
One day, I was out skiing, on a reeeeeeeaaaaally steep slope, and was trying to make sure I was actually on my feet rather than on my nose. Now, making an absolutely logical and completely understandable transition, it was all of a sudden the year 2012, and the world was going to hell in a breadbasket!
What this means is essentially that the ground itself, still on the ski-slope, was moving, heavily! 'twas all going in waves, which made it somewhat tricky to keep going downhill, seeing as how the concept of "Downhill" was instantly redefining itself. To add to the interestingnessicity, there was a monster, a big one. It was running down towards the fleeing people (on skis), and it was quite scary to behold.
Fortunately, I managed to evade it, as it came crashing down and knocked itself out in a somewhat cartoonish moment of awesomeness. Next thing I knew, in another brilliant transition, I found myself in a small shack, together with a few people, among them my beloved, hiding from a horde of the undead who, naturally, are bound to appear whenever the end of the world is taking place.
Now, of course we are trying to avoid getting bitten, or even scratched, because that would turn us into the undead, but we were also trying to kill the buggers at the same time. So, first there was a whole shitload of them, then there were suddenly just a few. The obvious flow of thought for me and my girl was whether we should shoot ourselves in the head right away to avoid turning into two of them.
Noteworthy is the fact that I got scratched by the knife of one of the undead, but decided that it would not turn me.
But achieving consensus on an important matter, we thought that the best course of action would be to intentionally get infected so we would in fact become undead ourselves, this because we at least wanted to spend some more time together, and even though we knew that our bodies would rot, we would still be together so that our love could flourish for awhile longer. That is thusly what happened, I got a cut in my left little toe and we both went somewhat brown-ish, we were clinically dead, but still up and about as if nothing had happened. We weren't zombies, just dead people who were still alive...kinda...
Apparently, some entrepreneur of considerable standing had the idea that we undead folks would make for utterly superb labour, so we were quickly shipped off across a body of water to some kind of labour camp, where we worked with taking apart boxes in order to win the favour of the boss.
Sometime around then, I noted that we could commit any crime we wanted, because as we were clinically dead, we couldn't be convicted of anything. I then felt for my pulse, and found it, which is rather weird when you think about it.
At this point, my left thumb was starting to seize up and hurt quite badly, because I was starting to feel the onset of rigor mortis. One of my co-workers adviced me that I should drink some water, which indeed helped, though the milk I drank made me feel sick to my stomach. I also felt some mild pain in my joints as they all started seizing up as well, which was expected by now.
Next thing I knew, I was on the beach with a higher ranking worker, with some amazing area-of-effect gun, that he left me to use when he went to do something or another, and I fired it at some invaders from another camp who arrived on the beach by boat.
After that, me and the mates from the camp took a joyride through the countryside, in what closely resembled a LEGO world! I noted that it was amazing that everything could be destroyed, as described by one of my mates, and I thought that made it an excellent video game!
At the end of it all, we were racing along, and trying to kill the people from the other camp who were pursuing us!
...and that's about it!
Okay, that's a whole lot of text, I think I'll write about the other dream sometime later, 'cause right now I can't be bothered!
Enjoy!
Here's the first one:
One day, I was out skiing, on a reeeeeeeaaaaally steep slope, and was trying to make sure I was actually on my feet rather than on my nose. Now, making an absolutely logical and completely understandable transition, it was all of a sudden the year 2012, and the world was going to hell in a breadbasket!
What this means is essentially that the ground itself, still on the ski-slope, was moving, heavily! 'twas all going in waves, which made it somewhat tricky to keep going downhill, seeing as how the concept of "Downhill" was instantly redefining itself. To add to the interestingnessicity, there was a monster, a big one. It was running down towards the fleeing people (on skis), and it was quite scary to behold.
Fortunately, I managed to evade it, as it came crashing down and knocked itself out in a somewhat cartoonish moment of awesomeness. Next thing I knew, in another brilliant transition, I found myself in a small shack, together with a few people, among them my beloved, hiding from a horde of the undead who, naturally, are bound to appear whenever the end of the world is taking place.
Now, of course we are trying to avoid getting bitten, or even scratched, because that would turn us into the undead, but we were also trying to kill the buggers at the same time. So, first there was a whole shitload of them, then there were suddenly just a few. The obvious flow of thought for me and my girl was whether we should shoot ourselves in the head right away to avoid turning into two of them.
Noteworthy is the fact that I got scratched by the knife of one of the undead, but decided that it would not turn me.
But achieving consensus on an important matter, we thought that the best course of action would be to intentionally get infected so we would in fact become undead ourselves, this because we at least wanted to spend some more time together, and even though we knew that our bodies would rot, we would still be together so that our love could flourish for awhile longer. That is thusly what happened, I got a cut in my left little toe and we both went somewhat brown-ish, we were clinically dead, but still up and about as if nothing had happened. We weren't zombies, just dead people who were still alive...kinda...
Apparently, some entrepreneur of considerable standing had the idea that we undead folks would make for utterly superb labour, so we were quickly shipped off across a body of water to some kind of labour camp, where we worked with taking apart boxes in order to win the favour of the boss.
Sometime around then, I noted that we could commit any crime we wanted, because as we were clinically dead, we couldn't be convicted of anything. I then felt for my pulse, and found it, which is rather weird when you think about it.
At this point, my left thumb was starting to seize up and hurt quite badly, because I was starting to feel the onset of rigor mortis. One of my co-workers adviced me that I should drink some water, which indeed helped, though the milk I drank made me feel sick to my stomach. I also felt some mild pain in my joints as they all started seizing up as well, which was expected by now.
Next thing I knew, I was on the beach with a higher ranking worker, with some amazing area-of-effect gun, that he left me to use when he went to do something or another, and I fired it at some invaders from another camp who arrived on the beach by boat.
After that, me and the mates from the camp took a joyride through the countryside, in what closely resembled a LEGO world! I noted that it was amazing that everything could be destroyed, as described by one of my mates, and I thought that made it an excellent video game!
At the end of it all, we were racing along, and trying to kill the people from the other camp who were pursuing us!
...and that's about it!
Okay, that's a whole lot of text, I think I'll write about the other dream sometime later, 'cause right now I can't be bothered!
Enjoy!
söndag 29 november 2009
Music!...and some other stuff...
So, about this concert with Deep Purple I went to a couple of days ago...
This bothers me greatly, because there was nothing really wrong with the concert itself, they were brilliant. In fact, those old geezers beat out most modern act by a fair margin, they seriously rocked like all hell.
But the problem, see, was the opening act. They were some kind of swedish rock band called Attack. The creepy thing about them was that they were pretending like we were all supposed to know them, acting like they weren't just a bunch of middle-aged creeps who were never any good in the first place, and clearly just got worse during the last 20 or so years.
Only funny thing about them was the drummer, because when the others left the stage and he just tried to fire up the crowd on his own, he did a much better job and everyone seemed more at ease without the three other idiots around.
Fortunately, the idiots finally abandoned their attempts to...do something or another, and left the stage clear for the arrival of the ones we actually bloody came to see! I mean, how fucking pretentious do you have to be to just stand there and waste the audience's time like Attack did?!
Anyway...
Let me tell you this; every single word your parents have ever said about just how brilliant Deep Purple are, out of which you believed absolutely nothing, is completely true. Sure, they are old, but they've aged much more gracefully than any of the other oldies, like Led Zeppelin or Pink Floyd.
Of course they included a whole line of classics; "Space Trucking", "Sometimes I Feel Like Screaming", and my personal favourite "Wasted Sunsets" in an awesome rendition. I actually though that last one was too much to hope for, but I suppose I got lucky this one time, which will probably have some pretty severe repercussions in the future...
And christmas is drawing closer by the minute, so maybe me and my beloved can conjure up some christmas spirit this coming weekend. Myself, I feel that christmas is the most romantic time of the year, and guess what ghosts and ghouls, this year I have a girlfriend! Hell yeah!
Ehm...what was I saying? Oh, right, about christmas...
I think we can cook something up, and I have a feeling this'll all be a winter to remember, not just for me but for my very significant other as well.
In other news, the commonly held opinion about the accelerated global warming is simply a load of bullshit.
http://www.newsmill.se/artikel/2009/11/27/betydelsen-av-climategate
Y'know, this is exactly what I have been saying all along, literally. I have endured alot of crap because I have advocated a wait-and-see stance on the matter, and have urged those who make claims about global warming being a bomb ready to blow any second to actually look up the facts themselves instead of just saying "Oh, but any serious scientist agrees that...".
Well of-fucking-course they do, because you and every other idiot out there automatically considers any scientist who disagrees with the generally held opinion to be not serious!
Now people will instantly want to defend them, saying this is just a situation involving a few rogue scientists and nothing that affects the bigger picture. Here's the problem with it; it fucking does affect the bigger picture.
Most people drawing conclusions on the subject are doing so based on hearsay; they've heard someone say something about some unclear figures, and they are basing their opinions on that. A smaller category of people are the ones who have actually looked at those figures themselves and draw conclusions based on them, not on hearsay about the figures.
At the top, however, we have a small clíque of scientists who actually gather and compile all the data that everyone else uses to draw their conclusions. It is these people who have been pulling the wool over the eyes of the general public by manipulating the numbers.
And this is naturally easy to do; we all like to think that "Numbers cannot lie!", which is true, numbers can in fact not lie.
People, however, have no problem whatsoever with lying. People can enter whatever numbers they like into the statistics, and the general public will trust those numbers to be accurate.
In this case, they weren't, time to own up to that fact!
This bothers me greatly, because there was nothing really wrong with the concert itself, they were brilliant. In fact, those old geezers beat out most modern act by a fair margin, they seriously rocked like all hell.
But the problem, see, was the opening act. They were some kind of swedish rock band called Attack. The creepy thing about them was that they were pretending like we were all supposed to know them, acting like they weren't just a bunch of middle-aged creeps who were never any good in the first place, and clearly just got worse during the last 20 or so years.
Only funny thing about them was the drummer, because when the others left the stage and he just tried to fire up the crowd on his own, he did a much better job and everyone seemed more at ease without the three other idiots around.
Fortunately, the idiots finally abandoned their attempts to...do something or another, and left the stage clear for the arrival of the ones we actually bloody came to see! I mean, how fucking pretentious do you have to be to just stand there and waste the audience's time like Attack did?!
Anyway...
Let me tell you this; every single word your parents have ever said about just how brilliant Deep Purple are, out of which you believed absolutely nothing, is completely true. Sure, they are old, but they've aged much more gracefully than any of the other oldies, like Led Zeppelin or Pink Floyd.
Of course they included a whole line of classics; "Space Trucking", "Sometimes I Feel Like Screaming", and my personal favourite "Wasted Sunsets" in an awesome rendition. I actually though that last one was too much to hope for, but I suppose I got lucky this one time, which will probably have some pretty severe repercussions in the future...
And christmas is drawing closer by the minute, so maybe me and my beloved can conjure up some christmas spirit this coming weekend. Myself, I feel that christmas is the most romantic time of the year, and guess what ghosts and ghouls, this year I have a girlfriend! Hell yeah!
Ehm...what was I saying? Oh, right, about christmas...
I think we can cook something up, and I have a feeling this'll all be a winter to remember, not just for me but for my very significant other as well.
In other news, the commonly held opinion about the accelerated global warming is simply a load of bullshit.
http://www.newsmill.se/artikel/2009/11/27/betydelsen-av-climategate
Y'know, this is exactly what I have been saying all along, literally. I have endured alot of crap because I have advocated a wait-and-see stance on the matter, and have urged those who make claims about global warming being a bomb ready to blow any second to actually look up the facts themselves instead of just saying "Oh, but any serious scientist agrees that...".
Well of-fucking-course they do, because you and every other idiot out there automatically considers any scientist who disagrees with the generally held opinion to be not serious!
Now people will instantly want to defend them, saying this is just a situation involving a few rogue scientists and nothing that affects the bigger picture. Here's the problem with it; it fucking does affect the bigger picture.
Most people drawing conclusions on the subject are doing so based on hearsay; they've heard someone say something about some unclear figures, and they are basing their opinions on that. A smaller category of people are the ones who have actually looked at those figures themselves and draw conclusions based on them, not on hearsay about the figures.
At the top, however, we have a small clíque of scientists who actually gather and compile all the data that everyone else uses to draw their conclusions. It is these people who have been pulling the wool over the eyes of the general public by manipulating the numbers.
And this is naturally easy to do; we all like to think that "Numbers cannot lie!", which is true, numbers can in fact not lie.
People, however, have no problem whatsoever with lying. People can enter whatever numbers they like into the statistics, and the general public will trust those numbers to be accurate.
In this case, they weren't, time to own up to that fact!
måndag 9 november 2009
The Twilight Zone!
Since my love hadn't heard of this fantastic phenomenon, I feel somehow obligated to spread the word of it to the world.
See, The Twilight Zone is the brilliant brainchild of the genius Rod Serling. The concept is that of a long series of short movies, each telling the story of some person in a very peculiar way. It is most commonly referred to as science fiction with a message. More often than not, it touches on the subjects of redemption and personal enlightenment, with many supernatural elements, but in a way that doesn't get preachy.
Myself, I'd call it very very discrete and subtle horror. It's nothing like regular horror movies, where there is gore and monsters jumping out in front of the camera. It's much more subsued or subsumed or some other word like that; many episodes leave you with a kind of eerie feeling, like there is just something very wrong, relying more on a disconcerted feeling than on fear. It also contains quite a lot of twist endings, you are lead to believe something throughout the entire episode, then it's turned on its head at the very end.
The best example of this is ironically enough not an episode of the series at all, but rather a movie that I believe most people have heard of; The Planet of the Apes, that is, the original, not the remake. This shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone who knows that it was in fact Rod Serling who wrote the screenplay for the movie, so it plays out like an episode of The Twilight Zone, especially the ending.
Here's the SPOILER for those who have already seen it, everyone else should skip this part!
At the end, the protagonist is riding away with his girl on a beach. Suddenly, he spots something that makes him fall to his knees in despair; the ruins of the statue of liberty, showing that he had in fact traveled not through space, but through time, and human civilization had destroyed itself, which allowed the apes to rule the world.
That brought me a particular feeling of it all being so wrong, like the world wasn't working the way it was supposed to, and that is precisely what many episodes of The Twilight Zone does.
You are reading this post, thinking it to be just another amusing anecdote in the life of a normal human being. But what you don't know, is that you have just checked into a hotel, that rest forever inside...The Twilight Zone!
See, The Twilight Zone is the brilliant brainchild of the genius Rod Serling. The concept is that of a long series of short movies, each telling the story of some person in a very peculiar way. It is most commonly referred to as science fiction with a message. More often than not, it touches on the subjects of redemption and personal enlightenment, with many supernatural elements, but in a way that doesn't get preachy.
Myself, I'd call it very very discrete and subtle horror. It's nothing like regular horror movies, where there is gore and monsters jumping out in front of the camera. It's much more subsued or subsumed or some other word like that; many episodes leave you with a kind of eerie feeling, like there is just something very wrong, relying more on a disconcerted feeling than on fear. It also contains quite a lot of twist endings, you are lead to believe something throughout the entire episode, then it's turned on its head at the very end.
The best example of this is ironically enough not an episode of the series at all, but rather a movie that I believe most people have heard of; The Planet of the Apes, that is, the original, not the remake. This shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone who knows that it was in fact Rod Serling who wrote the screenplay for the movie, so it plays out like an episode of The Twilight Zone, especially the ending.
Here's the SPOILER for those who have already seen it, everyone else should skip this part!
At the end, the protagonist is riding away with his girl on a beach. Suddenly, he spots something that makes him fall to his knees in despair; the ruins of the statue of liberty, showing that he had in fact traveled not through space, but through time, and human civilization had destroyed itself, which allowed the apes to rule the world.
That brought me a particular feeling of it all being so wrong, like the world wasn't working the way it was supposed to, and that is precisely what many episodes of The Twilight Zone does.
You are reading this post, thinking it to be just another amusing anecdote in the life of a normal human being. But what you don't know, is that you have just checked into a hotel, that rest forever inside...The Twilight Zone!
söndag 8 november 2009
Wedding...n' shit!
So, was at a birthday celebration yesterday, had a whole lot of fun with the relatives, but couldn't shake the unmistakable feeling of missing my dear Maria way too much!
Seriously, I can't conceive of time going any slower than this, why the flying fuck does it have to inch along at a pace that would make a snail go "Eat my dust!"?
Just another 11 days of waiting, but it's still too bloody much! I want my girl now!
Furthermore, have been appointed toastmaster at the wedding of my cousin, so in essence, I'll be running the whole freakin' show! I just thought I'd be introducing the speeches, at most, but it turns out I'll be in charge of just about everything and the kitchen sink apart from actually marrying the two. You know, planning speeches, games, keeping track of the catering, constructing the building we're gonna be in, inventing cold fusion, that kind of stuff.
Doesn't mean I'm not looking forward to it, though, it just means I'll have a whole lot on my plate that weekend.
Oh, did I mention I miss my girl enough to drive me crazy?
Seriously, I can't conceive of time going any slower than this, why the flying fuck does it have to inch along at a pace that would make a snail go "Eat my dust!"?
Just another 11 days of waiting, but it's still too bloody much! I want my girl now!
Furthermore, have been appointed toastmaster at the wedding of my cousin, so in essence, I'll be running the whole freakin' show! I just thought I'd be introducing the speeches, at most, but it turns out I'll be in charge of just about everything and the kitchen sink apart from actually marrying the two. You know, planning speeches, games, keeping track of the catering, constructing the building we're gonna be in, inventing cold fusion, that kind of stuff.
Doesn't mean I'm not looking forward to it, though, it just means I'll have a whole lot on my plate that weekend.
Oh, did I mention I miss my girl enough to drive me crazy?
torsdag 5 november 2009
Exam!
Sat for about four hours and wrote an exam today, starting 8:15, which was a seriously major pain in the rear.
However, something I noticed while doing it was this; the longer I sat there, trying to force the figures to make sense inside my head, and trying to force the same figures down onto the paper into something resembling written language, I caught myself taking the piss more and more.
First, it was very small, maybe a "!" at the end of some sentences to make them sound more direct and forceful, but as I wrote down the second to last bit, I was sitting there making a simple graph of trade relations, then making an arrow pointing to one intersection of curves and writing "PROFIT!...for both" next to it, as a means of illustrating that it was at that point that two countries would both enjoy a profit.
On the last paragraph of the last question, where I was supposed to sort 6 suggestions out of 8 according to their economic viability and stuff, I basically just wrote "So, yeah, it costs too darn much, but it makes the cut because it's a good idea, that unfortunately relies on the wisdom of man, which is roughly as reliable as Stevie Wonder's eyesight!", then put down the pencil and went home.
Thank god there's no more school until monday!
Also, I'd like to add a little appendix to my advice on how to survive horror movies, and it goes like this:
Listen to advice you're given!
If someone says "Don't spend the night at Haunted Mansion, 23rd Murderous Maniac Boulevard, Zombiessex", chances are doing so would be a fucking awful idea!
If someone says "Don't trust anyone!", you can be fairly sure you're not supposed to give your blind trust to that middle-aged fellow telling you he knows a perfect hiding spot in the middle of Serial-killer Woods!
However, something I noticed while doing it was this; the longer I sat there, trying to force the figures to make sense inside my head, and trying to force the same figures down onto the paper into something resembling written language, I caught myself taking the piss more and more.
First, it was very small, maybe a "!" at the end of some sentences to make them sound more direct and forceful, but as I wrote down the second to last bit, I was sitting there making a simple graph of trade relations, then making an arrow pointing to one intersection of curves and writing "PROFIT!...for both" next to it, as a means of illustrating that it was at that point that two countries would both enjoy a profit.
On the last paragraph of the last question, where I was supposed to sort 6 suggestions out of 8 according to their economic viability and stuff, I basically just wrote "So, yeah, it costs too darn much, but it makes the cut because it's a good idea, that unfortunately relies on the wisdom of man, which is roughly as reliable as Stevie Wonder's eyesight!", then put down the pencil and went home.
Thank god there's no more school until monday!
Also, I'd like to add a little appendix to my advice on how to survive horror movies, and it goes like this:
Listen to advice you're given!
If someone says "Don't spend the night at Haunted Mansion, 23rd Murderous Maniac Boulevard, Zombiessex", chances are doing so would be a fucking awful idea!
If someone says "Don't trust anyone!", you can be fairly sure you're not supposed to give your blind trust to that middle-aged fellow telling you he knows a perfect hiding spot in the middle of Serial-killer Woods!
måndag 19 oktober 2009
Spam?
I got a little bit of inspiration to write a little bit of little bits this late at night, so here it comes:
What the flying fuck is the matter with this bloody so-called "spam filter" on my student mail account?
Allow me to give you an example of something that it determined to be spam; a mail entitled "[Stud_sesam] GIRC", from one of the officials at the student corps.
Allow me to give you quite a few examples of something that the fucking useless "spam filter" took no notice of whatsoever; "Increase your length to be popular among girls", "Give your libido a boost", "A sign of sophisticated taste is a good watch.", and at the very least a hundred other mails advertising services where I can enlarge my penis, effectively, safely and non-invasively, mind you, buy watches that look fancy, but aren't, or buy Viagra online at a discount. Splendid, I've always wanted a magical pill that makes my magical wand hard as Holly, Eleven Inches and containing the feather of a Phoenix. On second thought, I just might give that guy a call...
My god, that has to be the nerdiest double entendre in the history of blogging...
What the flying fuck is the matter with this bloody so-called "spam filter" on my student mail account?
Allow me to give you an example of something that it determined to be spam; a mail entitled "[Stud_sesam] GIRC", from one of the officials at the student corps.
Allow me to give you quite a few examples of something that the fucking useless "spam filter" took no notice of whatsoever; "Increase your length to be popular among girls", "Give your libido a boost", "A sign of sophisticated taste is a good watch.", and at the very least a hundred other mails advertising services where I can enlarge my penis, effectively, safely and non-invasively, mind you, buy watches that look fancy, but aren't, or buy Viagra online at a discount. Splendid, I've always wanted a magical pill that makes my magical wand hard as Holly, Eleven Inches and containing the feather of a Phoenix. On second thought, I just might give that guy a call...
My god, that has to be the nerdiest double entendre in the history of blogging...
fredag 16 oktober 2009
Love, hate and music!
Just another week to go until my next visit to that special someone! Yay!
Though I reckon her two cats are of the opinion that I'm no more than an annoying cuddle-dispenser, but I suppose I'll have to take what I can get when it comes to feline beings...
And bloody hell, I never knew studying economics could be this completely and utterly dull. What kind of an idiot made all of this bullshit up? It drives me completely up the walls, all this nonsense about theories supposed to explain how the world of economics works, but none of them ever do, which is somewhat of a problem since I'm currently studying APPLIED Microeconomics!
Started off my songwriting again, however, so it's not all bad. Tried my hand at making a sweet country-ballad in the vein of Roger Whittaker, failed miserably and just let my amazing talent for cheesy pop-songs take over...*grumbles* Maybe it'll be more interesting if I were to play it on the keyboard with the sound of a synthesizer on crack?
But I digress, it's a pretty nice song, it's actually about the morning, the night, love, longing, hoping, despair, and about thirty-three other emotions that I could forcibly squeeze into the rather limited lyrical structure. Maybe I'll bother to write another one tomorrow...
Oh, what the heck, I'll just post the lyrics here:
"Verse 1:
Where is morning? I've been looking for so long
Where is the morning? The nights just drag on and on
Where are you? There's so many words I've yet to say
Darling, where are you? It's such a rain day today
Chorus:
And always I wonder, why it's so far away
But I know, I'll get to see it, some other day
Verse 2:
It's so cold now, I long for you to keep me warm
I should have seen it, it was a mystery before
I sit here hoping, that some day it all will change
But it's no use now, I'm too enchanted by your face
Chorus:
And always I wonder, why it's so far away
But I know, I'll get to see it, some other day"
And yes, I'm fully aware of that I've probably subconsciously stolen every single word from other songs, but it's not like I give a damn.
I should also make a short mention of the wonderful topic of sex.
There, that was it.
Though I reckon her two cats are of the opinion that I'm no more than an annoying cuddle-dispenser, but I suppose I'll have to take what I can get when it comes to feline beings...
And bloody hell, I never knew studying economics could be this completely and utterly dull. What kind of an idiot made all of this bullshit up? It drives me completely up the walls, all this nonsense about theories supposed to explain how the world of economics works, but none of them ever do, which is somewhat of a problem since I'm currently studying APPLIED Microeconomics!
Started off my songwriting again, however, so it's not all bad. Tried my hand at making a sweet country-ballad in the vein of Roger Whittaker, failed miserably and just let my amazing talent for cheesy pop-songs take over...*grumbles* Maybe it'll be more interesting if I were to play it on the keyboard with the sound of a synthesizer on crack?
But I digress, it's a pretty nice song, it's actually about the morning, the night, love, longing, hoping, despair, and about thirty-three other emotions that I could forcibly squeeze into the rather limited lyrical structure. Maybe I'll bother to write another one tomorrow...
Oh, what the heck, I'll just post the lyrics here:
"Verse 1:
Where is morning? I've been looking for so long
Where is the morning? The nights just drag on and on
Where are you? There's so many words I've yet to say
Darling, where are you? It's such a rain day today
Chorus:
And always I wonder, why it's so far away
But I know, I'll get to see it, some other day
Verse 2:
It's so cold now, I long for you to keep me warm
I should have seen it, it was a mystery before
I sit here hoping, that some day it all will change
But it's no use now, I'm too enchanted by your face
Chorus:
And always I wonder, why it's so far away
But I know, I'll get to see it, some other day"
And yes, I'm fully aware of that I've probably subconsciously stolen every single word from other songs, but it's not like I give a damn.
I should also make a short mention of the wonderful topic of sex.
There, that was it.
tisdag 30 juni 2009
Surviving Horror...part 3!
After having watched some more horror movies, and another truckload of idiotic mistakes made, I felt it was my duty to once again put pen to paper and write up a bunch of suggestions on what to do and not do if you find yourself in such a situation.
1. This one is all important; if you have some kind of vision or premonition of the death of you or someone else, just ignore it. This won't actually help you survive the horror flick, but it'll make sure you die quickly and violently, and thus you won't have to endure the next 90 minutes of terrible oneliners and potential mortal terror.
2. If you have a bunch of kids playing and having fun, but there's this one kid who just sits there with a bitter look on his/her face and doesn't do anything, kill the kid! Chances are, the other kids will alert you by saying things like "He scares me!", so listen to them for fuck's sake! That kid will otherwise, in time, and without the mother having a clue what's going on, get all the adults killed.
3. Use a shotgun, not a big knife!
See, filmmakers have a deep rooted sense of irony. Thusly, if you try to use a weapon most commonly associated with the badguy, such as a big knife or machete, you're going to die! Probably by being killed with that very same weapon!
Badguys, however, will never ever master the advanced technique of firing a shotgun, so if you can get your hands on one, you can start kicking arse!
4. If you are an old lady, don't drink alcohol! Just don't!
Ever notice how ladies, from the 40s and up, always grab a drink to calm their nerves just before they die? Well, don't fucking have a drink then!
5. If you are black, and even better, if you are Samuel L. Jackson, don't do the whole "Snakes on a plane!"-routine, because it WILL get you killed! Filmmakers hate angry black guys, so watch out!
6. If you're a very, and I do mean very, hot chick, you're dead. See, filmmakers are nerds to the core. Thusly, if you are the girl they had no chance of even being able to talk to in highschool, they will be coming for revenge! Now, the moderately attractive girl, she has a chance, depending on the past of the filmmaker. If he encountered the case of a moderately hot chick who pitied him but didn't fall in love with him, he's gonna kill the moderately foxy she-person too. The ugly chick? She'll always make it!
7. Don't ever panic. If you freak out, you will start running, and if you start running, you'll fall, crawl a few metres on your hands and knees, then die, violently!
8. That menacing sound of footsteps in the huge and terrifying house you're in, they don't belong to your one true love. Neither do they belong to the national guard, the marine corps, or any other people with whom you're potentially safe. Why the fuck would you even think that was the case? Get real!
There is, however, one exception from this rule; if you are the smoking hot daughter with a slightly brooding personality in a family that lives in the haunted house, you actually have the best chances of surviving, because the parents are both clueless, and the little kid is evil.
9. Don't rent or buy a house in which people have been violently murdered and dismembered! Jeez, it's like all the horror movies of the world are just bakesales for Stupid-cookies!
10. Don't do drugs! Not because drugs are bad, but because filmmakers think drugs are bad, and they'll kill you off if you try them! This doesn't mean I'm some kind of hippie drug-liberal, but even if it did, I don't give a shit what you think anyway!
Hope you enjoyed my small tips, and I hope I'll be seeing You as the survivor in the next horror movie!
1. This one is all important; if you have some kind of vision or premonition of the death of you or someone else, just ignore it. This won't actually help you survive the horror flick, but it'll make sure you die quickly and violently, and thus you won't have to endure the next 90 minutes of terrible oneliners and potential mortal terror.
2. If you have a bunch of kids playing and having fun, but there's this one kid who just sits there with a bitter look on his/her face and doesn't do anything, kill the kid! Chances are, the other kids will alert you by saying things like "He scares me!", so listen to them for fuck's sake! That kid will otherwise, in time, and without the mother having a clue what's going on, get all the adults killed.
3. Use a shotgun, not a big knife!
See, filmmakers have a deep rooted sense of irony. Thusly, if you try to use a weapon most commonly associated with the badguy, such as a big knife or machete, you're going to die! Probably by being killed with that very same weapon!
Badguys, however, will never ever master the advanced technique of firing a shotgun, so if you can get your hands on one, you can start kicking arse!
4. If you are an old lady, don't drink alcohol! Just don't!
Ever notice how ladies, from the 40s and up, always grab a drink to calm their nerves just before they die? Well, don't fucking have a drink then!
5. If you are black, and even better, if you are Samuel L. Jackson, don't do the whole "Snakes on a plane!"-routine, because it WILL get you killed! Filmmakers hate angry black guys, so watch out!
6. If you're a very, and I do mean very, hot chick, you're dead. See, filmmakers are nerds to the core. Thusly, if you are the girl they had no chance of even being able to talk to in highschool, they will be coming for revenge! Now, the moderately attractive girl, she has a chance, depending on the past of the filmmaker. If he encountered the case of a moderately hot chick who pitied him but didn't fall in love with him, he's gonna kill the moderately foxy she-person too. The ugly chick? She'll always make it!
7. Don't ever panic. If you freak out, you will start running, and if you start running, you'll fall, crawl a few metres on your hands and knees, then die, violently!
8. That menacing sound of footsteps in the huge and terrifying house you're in, they don't belong to your one true love. Neither do they belong to the national guard, the marine corps, or any other people with whom you're potentially safe. Why the fuck would you even think that was the case? Get real!
There is, however, one exception from this rule; if you are the smoking hot daughter with a slightly brooding personality in a family that lives in the haunted house, you actually have the best chances of surviving, because the parents are both clueless, and the little kid is evil.
9. Don't rent or buy a house in which people have been violently murdered and dismembered! Jeez, it's like all the horror movies of the world are just bakesales for Stupid-cookies!
10. Don't do drugs! Not because drugs are bad, but because filmmakers think drugs are bad, and they'll kill you off if you try them! This doesn't mean I'm some kind of hippie drug-liberal, but even if it did, I don't give a shit what you think anyway!
Hope you enjoyed my small tips, and I hope I'll be seeing You as the survivor in the next horror movie!
fredag 26 juni 2009
Even more booze!
In lieu of my little stimulating trip to Scotland recently, this seems like as good a time as any for another edition of Drwhyn's Drink Time (DDT for short!)!
Today's subject will be Islay, the southernmost island in the Hebrides that is home to probably the most famous distilleries among afficienados.
It houses the distilleries, in no particular order mind you, Caol Ila, Bruichladdich, Bowmore, Laphroaig, Lagavulin, Ardbeg, Bunnahabhain and Kilchoman.
Having tried some of the finer spirits from some of them, we should start with Laphroaig, perhaps the most widely known of them in Sweden. The kind that most people are familiar with from that distillery is the regular 10 year old, at 40% abv, that has an incredibly powerful aroma of tar. Yes, you did not misread, tar. It is not just smoky, it tastes and smells more or less entirely of tar. It is, to my humble experience, not a particularly delicate sort, and it isn't really trying to be either.
But it we were to take a step up, to the 18 year old, then it becomes an entirely different matter. Here we immediately notice the effect that aging has on it. It is vastly more complex in every way, with a much smoother taste to it, yet packed with a thousand flavours all at once. However, it posesses very little in the way of a finish, IE the smokiness will not stay with you for very long.
Moving on to Lagavulin, this I would say is a slightly more exclusive brand, but one that is also widely known. They actually allowed us to try their double-matured whisky, which has been stored in two different casks during the maturation process. Therefore, the colour is very dark for a whisky, and the taste and smell are both spectacular. The smokiness isn't exactly as powerful as Laphroaig, but there are plenty of hints of sweetness, wooden flavour and many others, though perhaps a tad powerful.
The ones we bought bottles of was their 18 year old "standard". All in all, it was simply amazing. Not much more can be said than that it is the quintessential whisky, it is all that whisky is supposed to be. You'll understand once you try it!
If I can be bothered, I'll throw in a little recap of the spirits from Ardbeg at a later time.
Today's subject will be Islay, the southernmost island in the Hebrides that is home to probably the most famous distilleries among afficienados.
It houses the distilleries, in no particular order mind you, Caol Ila, Bruichladdich, Bowmore, Laphroaig, Lagavulin, Ardbeg, Bunnahabhain and Kilchoman.
Having tried some of the finer spirits from some of them, we should start with Laphroaig, perhaps the most widely known of them in Sweden. The kind that most people are familiar with from that distillery is the regular 10 year old, at 40% abv, that has an incredibly powerful aroma of tar. Yes, you did not misread, tar. It is not just smoky, it tastes and smells more or less entirely of tar. It is, to my humble experience, not a particularly delicate sort, and it isn't really trying to be either.
But it we were to take a step up, to the 18 year old, then it becomes an entirely different matter. Here we immediately notice the effect that aging has on it. It is vastly more complex in every way, with a much smoother taste to it, yet packed with a thousand flavours all at once. However, it posesses very little in the way of a finish, IE the smokiness will not stay with you for very long.
Moving on to Lagavulin, this I would say is a slightly more exclusive brand, but one that is also widely known. They actually allowed us to try their double-matured whisky, which has been stored in two different casks during the maturation process. Therefore, the colour is very dark for a whisky, and the taste and smell are both spectacular. The smokiness isn't exactly as powerful as Laphroaig, but there are plenty of hints of sweetness, wooden flavour and many others, though perhaps a tad powerful.
The ones we bought bottles of was their 18 year old "standard". All in all, it was simply amazing. Not much more can be said than that it is the quintessential whisky, it is all that whisky is supposed to be. You'll understand once you try it!
If I can be bothered, I'll throw in a little recap of the spirits from Ardbeg at a later time.
torsdag 25 juni 2009
Michael Jackson...
There has been much speculation the last half-hour or so all over the world, overshadowing more or less all other news worldwide, as to whether or not the rumours of the tragic and untimely death of Michael Jackson are in fact true.
Sadly, seeing as how more or less every major news agency is reporting on the subject, it would seem that it in fact is.
People will talk about the allegations and the lawsuits, I won't.
Michael Jackson was, at most, very naive, and had a strong belief in innocence, kindness and sympathy.
He also had a talent unlike any other for music, which produced not only some of the most well-known albums and songs, but some of the greatest humanitarian deeds of his time.
He will be missed, by me among millions and yet millions of people across the globe.
Let these words of Brian May be my tribute to him; "One by one, only the good die young. They're only flying too close to the sun, crying for nothing, crying for no one...no one but you!"
Sadly, seeing as how more or less every major news agency is reporting on the subject, it would seem that it in fact is.
People will talk about the allegations and the lawsuits, I won't.
Michael Jackson was, at most, very naive, and had a strong belief in innocence, kindness and sympathy.
He also had a talent unlike any other for music, which produced not only some of the most well-known albums and songs, but some of the greatest humanitarian deeds of his time.
He will be missed, by me among millions and yet millions of people across the globe.
Let these words of Brian May be my tribute to him; "One by one, only the good die young. They're only flying too close to the sun, crying for nothing, crying for no one...no one but you!"
tisdag 16 juni 2009
Scotland!
Last week, from Sunday to Friday, me and a friend of mine took a long awaited trip to Scotland!
First of all, I have never been to a foreign country before. I've been to Oslo, and to a town in Denmark right across the sound from Sweden, so in all honesty, I've basically never left Sweden at all.
The trip to the airport itself was enjoyable enough; I had the good fortune of ending up on a replacement bus rather than the regular one, and the replacement had no seats, it had leather armchairs! Then, when I arrived at the airport, came the hellish experience of going through all the checkpoints, having to, naturally, show my passport at every single one. Why was this hellish? Because how on earth are you supposed to carry a bag, a jacket, your tickets and a passport all at the same time, with only two hands?!
Anyway, the flight, my first one ever, was uneventful, IE it didn't even crash. Big disappointment for me, there.
Arriving in Edinburgh, we took the bus from the airport straight to the center of town. Quite the daunting experience, mind you. Here we were, stranded in the middle of a foreign town, having not the faintest idea where the hostel was at which we were to be staying for two nights.
Having walked around for awhile, Eric pretending like he knew where we were going, I recalled that I actually had directions from the bus station to the hostel, with the help of which we actually got there eventually.
The hostel, now that was a story all of its own. I was expecting a bed, nothing more, some place to crash while doing other stuff during the daylight hours. But no, the place had two kitchens, a breakfast room, a chillout room with a TV and internet access for a nominal fee. The reception was also open 24/7, and we got plenty of tips on places to visit. Name of the place? Budget Backpackers, if anyone wants to visit Edinburgh you should look it up!
After that, we spent that evening and the next day wandering about the town and checking out pubs and restaurants. The food was better, the service more delightful and the prices much lower than in Sweden, there was basically no reason not to be there! We went to, among other places, this nice quaint place called Theatre Royal that served genuine sausages and mashed potatoes, not the artificial crap you get in sweden, but actual food. Oh, and did I mention the pints were roughly half as expensive as around here? Not to mention the bartender brought us three small glasses of different kinds so we could have a taste before deciding what to order.
On monday we headed out to the sacred island by bus and ferry, a trip that took more or less precisely seven hours. By sacred island I mean no other than the southernmost of the hebrides; Islay!
We arrived at Port Askaig on Islay at about 20:00, and tried to find some way of getting all the way across the island to Port Charlotte, where we were supposed to be staying. Safe to say, we didn't. There were no busses at all at that hour, so we sat our hind parts down in the hotel bar and chatted with the slovakian bartender. Also, did we try calling a cab, but the phone appeared to not be working properly, and since Port Askaig is right at the bottom of a rather high cliff, there was no reception for our cellular phones either.
After asking the bartender how much we'd have to cough up for a room at the hotel, and learning that it was 50 pounds...EACH, we got the splendid idea of walking straight across the island, a distance of about twenty-five miles or so, to Port Charlotte, on foot, with our bags and in the middle of the night. After a couple of pints and a glass of whiskey, it all just seemed to be quite a good idea!
It wasn't! The first eight miles or so were fine, we were a tad tired, but we knew we could just lie down and sleep anytime we wanted, though that option was slightly risky seeing as how we were walking at the side of the road in the darkness all along. But as we approached the little abode of Bridgend, our feet were starting to hurt like hell, and it was by sheer willpower that we pressed on, promising ourselves to at least reach it before we stopped. The problem with walking to a particular village on Islay, or anywhere else that remote, is that you never really know if you've passed it or not, since it could be all from a whole bunch of houses to just a couple of them.
Finally we reached it, and found that the local bus stop had a nice little bus shelter with two benches in it on which we tried to sleep for a few hours. It also so happened to get cold as hell during the rest of the night, so we put on every single piece of clothing we had with us, thus me wearing four layers and Eric wearing six.
In the morning, with the arrival of clouds of gnats, we finally caught a bus to Port Charlotte, where we checked into the hostel and went to sleep!
Upon our waking, it was time to head off to a lovely restaurant where the two of us basically had an entire dinner, still at rather low cost. Then we chilled at the hostel for the rest of the day, to be ready for the hardships of the next day.
Wednesday morning, our little duo took the bus to Port Ellen, on the southern coast of the island, from whence we went by foot towards the Holy Trinity. No, it's not a church, it's just what we call the three destilleries of Laphroaig, Lagavulin and Ardbeg, which lie on a line along the coast.
Thusly, the two of us arrived at Laphroaig, only to find there was no more room on the tour. We were overjoyed, however, that the receptionist then offered all those who couldn't go on the tour a complimentary dram (small amount) of 18 year old Laphroaig, a rather lovely one, mind you. Also, since I was already a member of the club "Friends of Laphroaig", thereby symbolically owning a square foot of land on the island, I was "paid" my rent in the form of a 5cl bottle of Laphroaig Quarter Cask, IE one that had been aged in small sherry casks rather than the big bourbon ones.
Next, our journey took us to Lagavulin, where there was in fact room for us on the tour. It lead us throughout the destillery, each room smelling more distinct than the next, all packed with a dense aroma of burned peat. Also, everyone was offered to taste the smoked barley, which Eric thought would be a suitable sort of snacks, as well as getting a sip of the wash, IE the actual liquid (still fermenting) that is then destilled to make spirits. The visit ended with all of the visitors huddled in a small lounge with a glass of expensive whisky in hand, as well as a complimentary Glencairn whisky-glass.
At Ardbeg, we enjoyed a fine lunch at the café before going on that tour as well. It was basically the same deal as with Lagavulin, except for the very beautiful tour guide who was the daughter of one of the destillers, her name being, if I'm not mistaken, Briney (no, I did not misspell that!). The tour, of course, ended with a complimentary dram, or rather two, because the tour guide herself offered us a dram of the Ardbeg Supernova, the flagship product of their line of whiskies, that was like a dream come true for any afficienado of smoky whiskies!
On our way back to Port Ellen to take the bus back to the hostel, we managed to become full-fledged tourists by actually hitchhiking with a lovely lady who was going our way to pick up her kids. However, arriving in Bowmore, about halfway to Port Charlotte, we noticed that we had missed the last bus (again!). By some freak chance, there was this fellow at the bus stop who offered to help us out by calling a cab, he invited us how to him and his mother, in a quaint little house with one of them front doors that go out straight onto the sidewalk, offered us a cup of tea and went to fetch the taxi driver, whom he knew (naturally?).
On Thursday we returned to Edinburgh, had a couple of pints, blah blah, nothing interesting happened except we both ran out of money on Friday, just before we were heading home. Thank god the plane tickets were already paid for!
Then we were depressed as hell when we got back to flat boring and dull old Sweden, and had to start speaking that awful bloody language again.
During the whole trip we had two small showers of rain, both when we were indoors, the rest of the time we had sunshine every single day, and a full yellow moon on the night we walked across Islay.
*phew* I believe that's it, enjoy!
First of all, I have never been to a foreign country before. I've been to Oslo, and to a town in Denmark right across the sound from Sweden, so in all honesty, I've basically never left Sweden at all.
The trip to the airport itself was enjoyable enough; I had the good fortune of ending up on a replacement bus rather than the regular one, and the replacement had no seats, it had leather armchairs! Then, when I arrived at the airport, came the hellish experience of going through all the checkpoints, having to, naturally, show my passport at every single one. Why was this hellish? Because how on earth are you supposed to carry a bag, a jacket, your tickets and a passport all at the same time, with only two hands?!
Anyway, the flight, my first one ever, was uneventful, IE it didn't even crash. Big disappointment for me, there.
Arriving in Edinburgh, we took the bus from the airport straight to the center of town. Quite the daunting experience, mind you. Here we were, stranded in the middle of a foreign town, having not the faintest idea where the hostel was at which we were to be staying for two nights.
Having walked around for awhile, Eric pretending like he knew where we were going, I recalled that I actually had directions from the bus station to the hostel, with the help of which we actually got there eventually.
The hostel, now that was a story all of its own. I was expecting a bed, nothing more, some place to crash while doing other stuff during the daylight hours. But no, the place had two kitchens, a breakfast room, a chillout room with a TV and internet access for a nominal fee. The reception was also open 24/7, and we got plenty of tips on places to visit. Name of the place? Budget Backpackers, if anyone wants to visit Edinburgh you should look it up!
After that, we spent that evening and the next day wandering about the town and checking out pubs and restaurants. The food was better, the service more delightful and the prices much lower than in Sweden, there was basically no reason not to be there! We went to, among other places, this nice quaint place called Theatre Royal that served genuine sausages and mashed potatoes, not the artificial crap you get in sweden, but actual food. Oh, and did I mention the pints were roughly half as expensive as around here? Not to mention the bartender brought us three small glasses of different kinds so we could have a taste before deciding what to order.
On monday we headed out to the sacred island by bus and ferry, a trip that took more or less precisely seven hours. By sacred island I mean no other than the southernmost of the hebrides; Islay!
We arrived at Port Askaig on Islay at about 20:00, and tried to find some way of getting all the way across the island to Port Charlotte, where we were supposed to be staying. Safe to say, we didn't. There were no busses at all at that hour, so we sat our hind parts down in the hotel bar and chatted with the slovakian bartender. Also, did we try calling a cab, but the phone appeared to not be working properly, and since Port Askaig is right at the bottom of a rather high cliff, there was no reception for our cellular phones either.
After asking the bartender how much we'd have to cough up for a room at the hotel, and learning that it was 50 pounds...EACH, we got the splendid idea of walking straight across the island, a distance of about twenty-five miles or so, to Port Charlotte, on foot, with our bags and in the middle of the night. After a couple of pints and a glass of whiskey, it all just seemed to be quite a good idea!
It wasn't! The first eight miles or so were fine, we were a tad tired, but we knew we could just lie down and sleep anytime we wanted, though that option was slightly risky seeing as how we were walking at the side of the road in the darkness all along. But as we approached the little abode of Bridgend, our feet were starting to hurt like hell, and it was by sheer willpower that we pressed on, promising ourselves to at least reach it before we stopped. The problem with walking to a particular village on Islay, or anywhere else that remote, is that you never really know if you've passed it or not, since it could be all from a whole bunch of houses to just a couple of them.
Finally we reached it, and found that the local bus stop had a nice little bus shelter with two benches in it on which we tried to sleep for a few hours. It also so happened to get cold as hell during the rest of the night, so we put on every single piece of clothing we had with us, thus me wearing four layers and Eric wearing six.
In the morning, with the arrival of clouds of gnats, we finally caught a bus to Port Charlotte, where we checked into the hostel and went to sleep!
Upon our waking, it was time to head off to a lovely restaurant where the two of us basically had an entire dinner, still at rather low cost. Then we chilled at the hostel for the rest of the day, to be ready for the hardships of the next day.
Wednesday morning, our little duo took the bus to Port Ellen, on the southern coast of the island, from whence we went by foot towards the Holy Trinity. No, it's not a church, it's just what we call the three destilleries of Laphroaig, Lagavulin and Ardbeg, which lie on a line along the coast.
Thusly, the two of us arrived at Laphroaig, only to find there was no more room on the tour. We were overjoyed, however, that the receptionist then offered all those who couldn't go on the tour a complimentary dram (small amount) of 18 year old Laphroaig, a rather lovely one, mind you. Also, since I was already a member of the club "Friends of Laphroaig", thereby symbolically owning a square foot of land on the island, I was "paid" my rent in the form of a 5cl bottle of Laphroaig Quarter Cask, IE one that had been aged in small sherry casks rather than the big bourbon ones.
Next, our journey took us to Lagavulin, where there was in fact room for us on the tour. It lead us throughout the destillery, each room smelling more distinct than the next, all packed with a dense aroma of burned peat. Also, everyone was offered to taste the smoked barley, which Eric thought would be a suitable sort of snacks, as well as getting a sip of the wash, IE the actual liquid (still fermenting) that is then destilled to make spirits. The visit ended with all of the visitors huddled in a small lounge with a glass of expensive whisky in hand, as well as a complimentary Glencairn whisky-glass.
At Ardbeg, we enjoyed a fine lunch at the café before going on that tour as well. It was basically the same deal as with Lagavulin, except for the very beautiful tour guide who was the daughter of one of the destillers, her name being, if I'm not mistaken, Briney (no, I did not misspell that!). The tour, of course, ended with a complimentary dram, or rather two, because the tour guide herself offered us a dram of the Ardbeg Supernova, the flagship product of their line of whiskies, that was like a dream come true for any afficienado of smoky whiskies!
On our way back to Port Ellen to take the bus back to the hostel, we managed to become full-fledged tourists by actually hitchhiking with a lovely lady who was going our way to pick up her kids. However, arriving in Bowmore, about halfway to Port Charlotte, we noticed that we had missed the last bus (again!). By some freak chance, there was this fellow at the bus stop who offered to help us out by calling a cab, he invited us how to him and his mother, in a quaint little house with one of them front doors that go out straight onto the sidewalk, offered us a cup of tea and went to fetch the taxi driver, whom he knew (naturally?).
On Thursday we returned to Edinburgh, had a couple of pints, blah blah, nothing interesting happened except we both ran out of money on Friday, just before we were heading home. Thank god the plane tickets were already paid for!
Then we were depressed as hell when we got back to flat boring and dull old Sweden, and had to start speaking that awful bloody language again.
During the whole trip we had two small showers of rain, both when we were indoors, the rest of the time we had sunshine every single day, and a full yellow moon on the night we walked across Islay.
*phew* I believe that's it, enjoy!
söndag 31 maj 2009
Feel!
I am feeling rather addled at the moment, probably courtesy of an excessive amount of calming drugs, I suppose it is the price one has to pay for peace of mind.
At the moment it is also hotter than hell in this mudhole of a town.
Furthermore, in one week I shall be leaving for Scotland, to spend six days there, hopefully drinking the country dry altogether!
At the moment it is also hotter than hell in this mudhole of a town.
Furthermore, in one week I shall be leaving for Scotland, to spend six days there, hopefully drinking the country dry altogether!
måndag 4 maj 2009
Stuck On You
Was reminded today of a little recording that I and a very special someone made a few years ago.
It was our duo-interpretation of "Stuck On You" by the whitest black guy in the world (no, not Michael Jackson); Lionel Richie.
It's a sweet song, I just wish we had been stuck with a tad better recording equipment, so we didn't have to balance the equalizer for two very different voices on one single track.
But it came out pretty good.
As I said, it's a sweet song, and it reminds me of a few very happy days that I have no intention of forgetting.
It was our duo-interpretation of "Stuck On You" by the whitest black guy in the world (no, not Michael Jackson); Lionel Richie.
It's a sweet song, I just wish we had been stuck with a tad better recording equipment, so we didn't have to balance the equalizer for two very different voices on one single track.
But it came out pretty good.
As I said, it's a sweet song, and it reminds me of a few very happy days that I have no intention of forgetting.
onsdag 11 mars 2009
Ballads!
Time for one of my supreme and excellent lists!
Issue of today: Power Ballads!
Let's face it, most are crap, but those that really strike a chord (pun most certainly not intended), so here they are, in order of...well, my rather limited memory!
1. Cinderella - Through the Rain. No, it has nothing to do with Mariah Carey, and it was made way earlier. If nothing else, you need to check this one out simply for the spectacle of enjoying the extremely throaty voice of their singer. As far as gritty ballads are concerned, this is as good as it gets!
2. Savatage - When the Crowds Have Gone. Another gritty ballad of exceptional quality. Belongs to a larger metal opera and tells the story of a musician who has spent his entire life working on his magnum opus, only to find that once it's finished, he's grown too old to ever be able to show it to the world, "when the crowds have gone", as it were. Also one that should be checked out for the spectacle of it.
3. Guess I should make a mention of at least one song by Bon Jovi, so here goes; Bed of Roses, that was it.
4. Avantasia - Anywhere. Part of the Metal Opera, tells the story of...ehm...don't have a clue, something about some guy and some...stuff. Either way, the amazing vocals of Tobias Sammet will knock you on your arse!
5. Air Supply - Making Love Out of Nothing At All. Written by Jim Steinman, the guy behind a number of smash hit power ballads. In all likelyhood, you'll find this fantastic song very similar to "Total Eclipse of the Heart", also written by Steinman.
Issue of today: Power Ballads!
Let's face it, most are crap, but those that really strike a chord (pun most certainly not intended), so here they are, in order of...well, my rather limited memory!
1. Cinderella - Through the Rain. No, it has nothing to do with Mariah Carey, and it was made way earlier. If nothing else, you need to check this one out simply for the spectacle of enjoying the extremely throaty voice of their singer. As far as gritty ballads are concerned, this is as good as it gets!
2. Savatage - When the Crowds Have Gone. Another gritty ballad of exceptional quality. Belongs to a larger metal opera and tells the story of a musician who has spent his entire life working on his magnum opus, only to find that once it's finished, he's grown too old to ever be able to show it to the world, "when the crowds have gone", as it were. Also one that should be checked out for the spectacle of it.
3. Guess I should make a mention of at least one song by Bon Jovi, so here goes; Bed of Roses, that was it.
4. Avantasia - Anywhere. Part of the Metal Opera, tells the story of...ehm...don't have a clue, something about some guy and some...stuff. Either way, the amazing vocals of Tobias Sammet will knock you on your arse!
5. Air Supply - Making Love Out of Nothing At All. Written by Jim Steinman, the guy behind a number of smash hit power ballads. In all likelyhood, you'll find this fantastic song very similar to "Total Eclipse of the Heart", also written by Steinman.
lördag 21 februari 2009
Video Gaming!
As everyone who's ever asked me "Are you into video games?" knows well by now, I'm into video games! Not that there's much time for that inbetween meeting hot chicks and drinking large amounts of alcohol, playing guitar, bass, piano and singing, but it just goes to show what we already knew; I'm fucking awesome!
Through the years, and with increasingly powerful graphics cards and varying price, the expectations on the gaming experience have gone the way of the Challenger; high into the air then exploded in a determined effort not to have to go down again.
So I sat at my computer and was bored out of my mind from the lack of anything interesting to play. I had Spore, Command & Conquer The Complete Fucking Collection, Oblivion, Call of Duty 1-9, yet I had stopped enjoying them.
Hence why I bought the Xbox 360. Got a good deal for a used Premium at my nearest GAME-store. So I had to buy some games for it. Those games ended up being Perfect Dark Zero, The Darkness and King Kong, incidentally all FPS-games.
Previously, I had thought FPS gaming could never work well on consoles because of the lack of mouse+keyboard. But oh was I ever fucking mistaken. It was much, and I do mean MUCH, more fun to play it with a controller!
The Darkness was completely awesome, Perfect Dark Zero was a great FPS, just a tad short, and King Kong, in spite of being one of those hated License-games made to capitalize on the success of a great Hollywood-movie, had smooth controls, pretty decent graphics and is so long I still haven't finished it, which immediately puts it in the upper echelon of all the games I have ever played in my life! That, and you get to control a fucking giant gorilla, can it get more awesome than that?!
I feel the need to make a special mention of The Darkness, simply because it is quite a unique game, both when it comes to story and gameplay. Chances are, you have never played a game quite like it, and you probably never will. It goes places that most FPS games would fiercely avoid, and if you're willing to disregard the miniscule lip-movements of the characters, this game will draw you in like a power-ballad by Cinderella!
Next I bought Too Human and Far Cry Instincts: Predator. Far Cry was...disappointing. The graphics were not at all up to snuff, and the controls were much too jerky, which made aiming a tedious hit-and-miss (Hilarious pun, non?) affair.
Too Human was another thing entirely. It is something as unique as a hack-n-slash/RPG hybrid. You get to upgrade your skills, choose class and upgrade your equipment, but mostly it consists of killing tonnes of machines. The game did appear slightly iffy to me, though, because the character is somewhat too limited in many way, it feels like you would need much more tools of destruction as well as restoration to be able to tackle some of the harder encounters.
But the game just tends to disarm my criticism with how well the presentation works. The graphics are top-notch, the characters and story are funny as hell at some points, cutting a mechanical troll down to size is really satisfying, and more.
You'll die often, though, and you'll tire of it pretty quickly, since every single time you die, a valkyrie descends and picks up your corpse allowing you to respawn. But it's not as bad as you might thing, for me it's more like an opportunity to rethink my strategy, which is fairly rare in such games.
Oh well, that'll be all for tonight!
Through the years, and with increasingly powerful graphics cards and varying price, the expectations on the gaming experience have gone the way of the Challenger; high into the air then exploded in a determined effort not to have to go down again.
So I sat at my computer and was bored out of my mind from the lack of anything interesting to play. I had Spore, Command & Conquer The Complete Fucking Collection, Oblivion, Call of Duty 1-9, yet I had stopped enjoying them.
Hence why I bought the Xbox 360. Got a good deal for a used Premium at my nearest GAME-store. So I had to buy some games for it. Those games ended up being Perfect Dark Zero, The Darkness and King Kong, incidentally all FPS-games.
Previously, I had thought FPS gaming could never work well on consoles because of the lack of mouse+keyboard. But oh was I ever fucking mistaken. It was much, and I do mean MUCH, more fun to play it with a controller!
The Darkness was completely awesome, Perfect Dark Zero was a great FPS, just a tad short, and King Kong, in spite of being one of those hated License-games made to capitalize on the success of a great Hollywood-movie, had smooth controls, pretty decent graphics and is so long I still haven't finished it, which immediately puts it in the upper echelon of all the games I have ever played in my life! That, and you get to control a fucking giant gorilla, can it get more awesome than that?!
I feel the need to make a special mention of The Darkness, simply because it is quite a unique game, both when it comes to story and gameplay. Chances are, you have never played a game quite like it, and you probably never will. It goes places that most FPS games would fiercely avoid, and if you're willing to disregard the miniscule lip-movements of the characters, this game will draw you in like a power-ballad by Cinderella!
Next I bought Too Human and Far Cry Instincts: Predator. Far Cry was...disappointing. The graphics were not at all up to snuff, and the controls were much too jerky, which made aiming a tedious hit-and-miss (Hilarious pun, non?) affair.
Too Human was another thing entirely. It is something as unique as a hack-n-slash/RPG hybrid. You get to upgrade your skills, choose class and upgrade your equipment, but mostly it consists of killing tonnes of machines. The game did appear slightly iffy to me, though, because the character is somewhat too limited in many way, it feels like you would need much more tools of destruction as well as restoration to be able to tackle some of the harder encounters.
But the game just tends to disarm my criticism with how well the presentation works. The graphics are top-notch, the characters and story are funny as hell at some points, cutting a mechanical troll down to size is really satisfying, and more.
You'll die often, though, and you'll tire of it pretty quickly, since every single time you die, a valkyrie descends and picks up your corpse allowing you to respawn. But it's not as bad as you might thing, for me it's more like an opportunity to rethink my strategy, which is fairly rare in such games.
Oh well, that'll be all for tonight!
torsdag 19 februari 2009
Fucking hell!
See, I recently watched an episode of Bullshit! wherein they raved on about idiots who want to ban all forms of cursing and profanities.
So, I'll just procede to list pretty much all the expressions containing "colourful metaphores" that I consider perfectly fine to use in any regular sentence!
Fuck, shit, hell, shagged, screwed, sucks, blows, sucks ass, sucks monkeyfuck, fuckwad, fuck off, fuck you, screw you, go to hell, eat me, bite me, dick, suck it, shit the fuck, fucking suck it fucks, tits (not in any way a profanity, I just feel inadequate as a man without making at least one mention of female breasts each day), cunt, motherfucker, dickhead, fuckhead, pussy, asshole, anus, american, fat stinking jerk, pimhole, fusk, clothprunker, smucktating and finally, pempslider!
There are many other combinations and variations upon these expressions, of course, and I strongly urge all who read this to keep inventing new ways to cuss, and I will be delighted the more inventive people turn out to be when it comes to profanities!
Naturally, I will also be equally disgusted if an attractive female friend of mine, no particular one in mind, does not greet me with the words "Hi there, you old cunt". Because in all fairness, who wants to be known as a complete pussy?
So, I'll just procede to list pretty much all the expressions containing "colourful metaphores" that I consider perfectly fine to use in any regular sentence!
Fuck, shit, hell, shagged, screwed, sucks, blows, sucks ass, sucks monkeyfuck, fuckwad, fuck off, fuck you, screw you, go to hell, eat me, bite me, dick, suck it, shit the fuck, fucking suck it fucks, tits (not in any way a profanity, I just feel inadequate as a man without making at least one mention of female breasts each day), cunt, motherfucker, dickhead, fuckhead, pussy, asshole, anus, american, fat stinking jerk, pimhole, fusk, clothprunker, smucktating and finally, pempslider!
There are many other combinations and variations upon these expressions, of course, and I strongly urge all who read this to keep inventing new ways to cuss, and I will be delighted the more inventive people turn out to be when it comes to profanities!
Naturally, I will also be equally disgusted if an attractive female friend of mine, no particular one in mind, does not greet me with the words "Hi there, you old cunt". Because in all fairness, who wants to be known as a complete pussy?
onsdag 18 februari 2009
Judas Priest!
This isn't the brightest part of my life, but here goes:
At some point, I don't have a clue when it was, I was invited by a friend to go with her to a concert with, you guessed it, Judas Priest.
It was a pretty nice evening, spoiled by only one dreadful event that made me regret ever going to Stockholm that day.
That event was the concert itself. It was...bad...
Not only were the old legends tired and addled by enough drugs and alcohol to at least make an irishman slightly tipsy, the playlist was a disaster.
First of all, the second song they played was "Electric Eye", so right there vanished the only real reason for attending at all. Good job! ...assholes...
Second, rather than going with a stripped down hardrock sound that they did back in the day, they decided to fill the whole thing with a whole lot of jerking off their guitars! They are instruments, not penises for christs sake!
Third, Rob Halford should have quit years ago, his voice was nothing like it used to be! They did "Painkiller" and "Riding On The Wind", and all Halford did was stand half-bent trying to screech his was up to the higher notes, without much success, making it absolutely impossible to recognize a single word of what he was, supposedly, singing.
Somewhere near the end they finally did "Living After Midnight", after which me and my pal promptly left.
That concert was simply not good, and it completely killed any interest I had in the band right there.
Next time we'll be listening to one of my big rants again, the next subject will be an earlier concert with Europe. Find out if it sucked or rocked!
At some point, I don't have a clue when it was, I was invited by a friend to go with her to a concert with, you guessed it, Judas Priest.
It was a pretty nice evening, spoiled by only one dreadful event that made me regret ever going to Stockholm that day.
That event was the concert itself. It was...bad...
Not only were the old legends tired and addled by enough drugs and alcohol to at least make an irishman slightly tipsy, the playlist was a disaster.
First of all, the second song they played was "Electric Eye", so right there vanished the only real reason for attending at all. Good job! ...assholes...
Second, rather than going with a stripped down hardrock sound that they did back in the day, they decided to fill the whole thing with a whole lot of jerking off their guitars! They are instruments, not penises for christs sake!
Third, Rob Halford should have quit years ago, his voice was nothing like it used to be! They did "Painkiller" and "Riding On The Wind", and all Halford did was stand half-bent trying to screech his was up to the higher notes, without much success, making it absolutely impossible to recognize a single word of what he was, supposedly, singing.
Somewhere near the end they finally did "Living After Midnight", after which me and my pal promptly left.
That concert was simply not good, and it completely killed any interest I had in the band right there.
Next time we'll be listening to one of my big rants again, the next subject will be an earlier concert with Europe. Find out if it sucked or rocked!
tisdag 17 februari 2009
Bon Jovi!
I guess it was unavoide...unavoidy...couldn't be avoided, the spotlight falls on Bon Jovi!
I remember the first time I started listening to them, it was my older brother who played lots of their music on his brand new overpowered stereo. At the time, I thought it was Bryan Adams, because as weird as it sounds, I knew roughly nothing about rock music and just associated with the closest thing I had heard that far.
Then my younger brother became a HUGE fan of Bon Jovi, fascinatingly enough, and he never missed an opportunity to help the rest of the family listen to his ever growing number of records.
At this point I knew roughly two songs: "I'll Be There For You" and "Livin' On A Prayer", by the way.
So here's what I did: I drove my little brother away from the computer and punched up the Crush Tour Live-DVD, and I listened...and listened, until it was late at night and I was dead tired, but I had discovered a veritable pot of golden rock.
Now, the rest could very well have been history, if it hadn't been for the fact that it was not.
Being the unforgivable nerd and arrogant jerk that I am, I suggest ones in music class that maybe my ensemble should perform "Bed of Roses". See, in my gratuitous self-glorification, I actually pretended like I could sing that song with any dignity. So, that's what happened, on a concert in school I was stuck in front of a bunch of high-school students, and I was verily singing "Bed Of Roses". I personally felt like I fell flat on my face with a dreadful performance, but naturally everyone around me lied through their teeth and said it was beautiful.
And as the ultimate useless anecdote, during my first year of high school, my interest in Bon Jovi lead fate to be nice for once and throw a person my way, whom just so happens to be the biggest fan of Bon Jovi I have ever met.
You know damn well who you are, and you still mean a whole fucking lot to me!
I remember the first time I started listening to them, it was my older brother who played lots of their music on his brand new overpowered stereo. At the time, I thought it was Bryan Adams, because as weird as it sounds, I knew roughly nothing about rock music and just associated with the closest thing I had heard that far.
Then my younger brother became a HUGE fan of Bon Jovi, fascinatingly enough, and he never missed an opportunity to help the rest of the family listen to his ever growing number of records.
At this point I knew roughly two songs: "I'll Be There For You" and "Livin' On A Prayer", by the way.
So here's what I did: I drove my little brother away from the computer and punched up the Crush Tour Live-DVD, and I listened...and listened, until it was late at night and I was dead tired, but I had discovered a veritable pot of golden rock.
Now, the rest could very well have been history, if it hadn't been for the fact that it was not.
Being the unforgivable nerd and arrogant jerk that I am, I suggest ones in music class that maybe my ensemble should perform "Bed of Roses". See, in my gratuitous self-glorification, I actually pretended like I could sing that song with any dignity. So, that's what happened, on a concert in school I was stuck in front of a bunch of high-school students, and I was verily singing "Bed Of Roses". I personally felt like I fell flat on my face with a dreadful performance, but naturally everyone around me lied through their teeth and said it was beautiful.
And as the ultimate useless anecdote, during my first year of high school, my interest in Bon Jovi lead fate to be nice for once and throw a person my way, whom just so happens to be the biggest fan of Bon Jovi I have ever met.
You know damn well who you are, and you still mean a whole fucking lot to me!
tisdag 27 januari 2009
Games...
Games!
Games. What makes 'em good?
Number one: Do NOT try to imitate real life! People don't play games to relive elements of the boring lives they lead, they play games to have some fun!
The right way: Saints Row 2. The game is absolutely whacky, and you can just feel the potential for madness flowing over you, but it's fucking hilarious!
The wrong way: GTA IV. If you want to know what's wrong with it, just watch the Zero Punctuation review of Saints Row 2, you'll see! In short; games should not be as dull as normal life!
Number two: Give the main character some...well...fucking character! The GTA III-series went through this like a textbook. It started out with Claude, a useless, mute, doormat with all the personality of a jar of peas. Then it went on to a serious badass, AKA Tommy Vercetti, who knew he wanted to rule the city and he was damn well going to do just that. It all ended with the brilliant social satire of the stereotypical jerks of San Andreas.
Maybe it's just me, but I simply could never really connect with Gordon Freeman because he never said a damn word and just followed people's orders all the time. It gets rather pathetic in the second game, when he comes back as the great saviour of mankind and everyone thinks he's the best thing in the world, yet all he does is follow others, he never ever takes any initiative.
Number three: Well...who gives a damn about number three, if you were a game developer who actually used his brain rather than his scrotum for thought processes and thus could fathom the first two points, THEN we could talk about number three.
Games. What makes 'em good?
Number one: Do NOT try to imitate real life! People don't play games to relive elements of the boring lives they lead, they play games to have some fun!
The right way: Saints Row 2. The game is absolutely whacky, and you can just feel the potential for madness flowing over you, but it's fucking hilarious!
The wrong way: GTA IV. If you want to know what's wrong with it, just watch the Zero Punctuation review of Saints Row 2, you'll see! In short; games should not be as dull as normal life!
Number two: Give the main character some...well...fucking character! The GTA III-series went through this like a textbook. It started out with Claude, a useless, mute, doormat with all the personality of a jar of peas. Then it went on to a serious badass, AKA Tommy Vercetti, who knew he wanted to rule the city and he was damn well going to do just that. It all ended with the brilliant social satire of the stereotypical jerks of San Andreas.
Maybe it's just me, but I simply could never really connect with Gordon Freeman because he never said a damn word and just followed people's orders all the time. It gets rather pathetic in the second game, when he comes back as the great saviour of mankind and everyone thinks he's the best thing in the world, yet all he does is follow others, he never ever takes any initiative.
Number three: Well...who gives a damn about number three, if you were a game developer who actually used his brain rather than his scrotum for thought processes and thus could fathom the first two points, THEN we could talk about number three.
måndag 26 januari 2009
Quite Interesting!
There are many quite interesting facts in the world.
The word "Hello" was invented by Edison, the man who is most famous for the thing he did NOT invent, IE the lightbulb. It was contained in a letter from him in 1887. Previously, there was only the word "Hullo", which was not a greeting but rather an expression of surprise.
The word "Boredom", on the other hand, was invented by Charles Dickens. Plenty of people think that Dickens was a close friend of H.C Andersen, which is simply not true. Andersen lived with Dickens for a few weeks during his stay in England, and Dickens thought he was so dull and boring that he couldn't stand him.
The longest animal in the world is the Bootlace Worm, a type of sea-living worm.
Lightbulbs emit more heat than light.
Natural pearls form from the remains of parasitic nematode worms inside of clams.
The chances of finding a pearl in an oyster in a restaurant are, on the other hand, nil, as that particular kind of bivalve mollusk does not produce pearls at all.
The word "Hello" was invented by Edison, the man who is most famous for the thing he did NOT invent, IE the lightbulb. It was contained in a letter from him in 1887. Previously, there was only the word "Hullo", which was not a greeting but rather an expression of surprise.
The word "Boredom", on the other hand, was invented by Charles Dickens. Plenty of people think that Dickens was a close friend of H.C Andersen, which is simply not true. Andersen lived with Dickens for a few weeks during his stay in England, and Dickens thought he was so dull and boring that he couldn't stand him.
The longest animal in the world is the Bootlace Worm, a type of sea-living worm.
Lightbulbs emit more heat than light.
Natural pearls form from the remains of parasitic nematode worms inside of clams.
The chances of finding a pearl in an oyster in a restaurant are, on the other hand, nil, as that particular kind of bivalve mollusk does not produce pearls at all.
lördag 24 januari 2009
Songs...
Songs!
Songs. What makes them great?
First of all, don't overdo it! The thing that alot of songwriters tend to do is make their songs overly complex and containing a bunch of odd chords and odd scales that really only a music teacher would ever say "That actually fits". I won't mention any names, but Toto is a brilliant example of this. Their songs frequently contain complicated harmonies and the musical equivalent of masturbation. It may be impressive, but so is a monkey dipping his head in cocoa-powder, and I wouldn't want the sound of that coming out of my speakers!
Second of all...well...don't overdo it, again! This one is instead aimed at the singers; keep it simple! Mariah Carey frequently falls into the rather deep pit of wailing and showing off her fabulous voice too much. Again, it's impressive, but it gets bloody dull to listen to for any extended amount of time.
Thirdly; write abstract lyrics. If you're going to use names in the song, make sure it's in a fashion that doesn't give the impression that the song is a detailed description of that person. People want to be able to identify with songs, and they can't do that if the lover you're singing about is called Lois and is 6ft5, has red hair and lives on 35 Spooner St.
Fourthly; never tell anyone what the song is about. Same reason as above.
Fifthly; if you can't get any good ideas of what chord progression to use, do what everyone else does; rip off Canon in D Major by Pachelbel. It ALWAYS sounds good!
Songs. What makes them great?
First of all, don't overdo it! The thing that alot of songwriters tend to do is make their songs overly complex and containing a bunch of odd chords and odd scales that really only a music teacher would ever say "That actually fits". I won't mention any names, but Toto is a brilliant example of this. Their songs frequently contain complicated harmonies and the musical equivalent of masturbation. It may be impressive, but so is a monkey dipping his head in cocoa-powder, and I wouldn't want the sound of that coming out of my speakers!
Second of all...well...don't overdo it, again! This one is instead aimed at the singers; keep it simple! Mariah Carey frequently falls into the rather deep pit of wailing and showing off her fabulous voice too much. Again, it's impressive, but it gets bloody dull to listen to for any extended amount of time.
Thirdly; write abstract lyrics. If you're going to use names in the song, make sure it's in a fashion that doesn't give the impression that the song is a detailed description of that person. People want to be able to identify with songs, and they can't do that if the lover you're singing about is called Lois and is 6ft5, has red hair and lives on 35 Spooner St.
Fourthly; never tell anyone what the song is about. Same reason as above.
Fifthly; if you can't get any good ideas of what chord progression to use, do what everyone else does; rip off Canon in D Major by Pachelbel. It ALWAYS sounds good!
torsdag 22 januari 2009
More booze!
Eager as I am to divulge even more secrets from the enchanted kingdom that is Whisk(e)y, I just could not help myself from so quickly adding another edition of Drwhyn's Drink Time (DDT for short)!
Let us begin!
First of all, a few tips on the consuming itself of whisk(e)y.
You should always make sure that your whisky is room tempered, not a degree warmer or cooler, lest it loses a vast majority of all its flavour. Preferably refraim from drinking it out in the cold, and when inside, remember not to clutch the glass entirely in your hand, instead grip it by the foot and you avoid it getting too warm.
As for ice, it's a big fucking NO NO NO! Not only does it cool down the whiskey as mentioned, it also waters it out, which is just a bloody waste!
Whisky without ice is referred to as "Plain", and if the barman ever asks you if you want it on the rocks, then just say "No, plain, of course!" in your most condescending and disrespectful tone, because he deserves it!
The barman will, however, most likely offer you a small glass (read: shot glass) of water with a straw in it. Do not frown upon this, because it is most considerate! It serves twin purposes; first, it allows you to take a small sip of water now and then so you don't kill off all your taste buds, second, it allows you to deposit a small quantity of water into your whiskey, but ignore that for now, we'll address that in a later lesson!
On to the beverages, shalln't we go?
Grant's! You've all seen their commercials on TV, you've all looked at those beautiful triangular bottles and thought they look great.
Let's get one straight: It sucks!
Grant is simply not a good whisky, it is quite bad. That could be rather surprising since 'tis a reputable scotch, but don't let that fool you. The flavour has a strong element that makes it much worse than most others; bitterness. If there is one thing a whisky should not be, 'tis bitter.
No matter if you are a beginner or a veteran, just stay away from this one!
To counter that dreadful thing, let us look at a rather good, though still not splendid, one.
The Macallan!
It is also a reputable scotch, this one being from the Speyside region. Also, it is the first one on our list to be primarily a Single Malt Whisky, IE it is only made out of malted barley and distilled at a single distillery, not from any other types of grain and not mixed together from different distilleries.. Other types of whisky are instead made from combinations of a few types of grain, most commonly barley and corn.
The Macallan is not as mild as the other ones we've touched upon, and has generally more flavours packed into it. While still not being anywhere near the stronger versions from other parts of Scotland, it is potent. It is, however, smooth as well, making it part of what I would like to call the mainstay of the scotch whiskies. Not one fit for beginners, perhaps, but it doesn't hurt at all to try this one at any time if you want to try out something really good.
If you offer a friend a drink of Macallan, he, or she, will not be disappointed!
Who knows when the next lesson will come along, but I assure you that it will be soon, and I will be back with two a little more distinctive spirits next time!
Let us begin!
First of all, a few tips on the consuming itself of whisk(e)y.
You should always make sure that your whisky is room tempered, not a degree warmer or cooler, lest it loses a vast majority of all its flavour. Preferably refraim from drinking it out in the cold, and when inside, remember not to clutch the glass entirely in your hand, instead grip it by the foot and you avoid it getting too warm.
As for ice, it's a big fucking NO NO NO! Not only does it cool down the whiskey as mentioned, it also waters it out, which is just a bloody waste!
Whisky without ice is referred to as "Plain", and if the barman ever asks you if you want it on the rocks, then just say "No, plain, of course!" in your most condescending and disrespectful tone, because he deserves it!
The barman will, however, most likely offer you a small glass (read: shot glass) of water with a straw in it. Do not frown upon this, because it is most considerate! It serves twin purposes; first, it allows you to take a small sip of water now and then so you don't kill off all your taste buds, second, it allows you to deposit a small quantity of water into your whiskey, but ignore that for now, we'll address that in a later lesson!
On to the beverages, shalln't we go?
Grant's! You've all seen their commercials on TV, you've all looked at those beautiful triangular bottles and thought they look great.
Let's get one straight: It sucks!
Grant is simply not a good whisky, it is quite bad. That could be rather surprising since 'tis a reputable scotch, but don't let that fool you. The flavour has a strong element that makes it much worse than most others; bitterness. If there is one thing a whisky should not be, 'tis bitter.
No matter if you are a beginner or a veteran, just stay away from this one!
To counter that dreadful thing, let us look at a rather good, though still not splendid, one.
The Macallan!
It is also a reputable scotch, this one being from the Speyside region. Also, it is the first one on our list to be primarily a Single Malt Whisky, IE it is only made out of malted barley and distilled at a single distillery, not from any other types of grain and not mixed together from different distilleries.. Other types of whisky are instead made from combinations of a few types of grain, most commonly barley and corn.
The Macallan is not as mild as the other ones we've touched upon, and has generally more flavours packed into it. While still not being anywhere near the stronger versions from other parts of Scotland, it is potent. It is, however, smooth as well, making it part of what I would like to call the mainstay of the scotch whiskies. Not one fit for beginners, perhaps, but it doesn't hurt at all to try this one at any time if you want to try out something really good.
If you offer a friend a drink of Macallan, he, or she, will not be disappointed!
Who knows when the next lesson will come along, but I assure you that it will be soon, and I will be back with two a little more distinctive spirits next time!
No more shit...for a while!
Right, time to start off a new series that I'd like to call Drwhyn's Drink Time (or DDT, for short)!
For this issue, and probably any future issues, we'll be looking at Whisk(e)y!
See, it's simple; if you like irish whiskey, you add an "e", if you like scotch, you don't!
And if you belong to the latter category, you'll probably look down on the former...
Whisk(e)y is usually aged for 10 or 12 years, and when you're dealing with blended types the age written on the bottle is that of the youngest sort present in the mix.
We'll start off with something simple: Jameson.
For any beginner, Jameson is the way to go. It's a blended Irish, triple distilled, whiskey. Basically the irish standard as far as commercial brands go.
The flavour is very smooth, IE it won't knock you on your arse the first time you take a sip. Being a rather typical irish whiskey, it is also not smokey at all.
It is also the basis for any real Irish Coffee, and if you suspect that the barman has made you one with any other type of whiskey, you should go inform him of that and ask for a new one.
In general, it's an easy one to drink. As I said, if you're a beginner, or maybe just want something cheap that you can enjoy often, then Jameson is a good bet.
All in all, I recommend it!
In the interest of fairness, let's grab a hold of what is essentially the scotish equivalent, a rather cheap and commercially succesful "standard whisky"; The Famous Grouse.
It is a blended scotch, and you've probably seen it advertised on the television.
Also being one often recommended to beginners, Famous Grouse is not quite as smooth as Jameson, but still falls comfortably within the smooth part of the spectrum, being just a tad sharper on the tongue.
You could easily describe it as being a "regular" whisky. Not fantastically good, nor in any way bad, just...plain. For those who delight in all manifestation of the malted brews, it'll do just fine, but it is not likely to encourage any epiphanies.
Tune in later for my next issue, which will be looking at the slightly better, and slightly worse, that the world of spirits has to offer!
For this issue, and probably any future issues, we'll be looking at Whisk(e)y!
See, it's simple; if you like irish whiskey, you add an "e", if you like scotch, you don't!
And if you belong to the latter category, you'll probably look down on the former...
Whisk(e)y is usually aged for 10 or 12 years, and when you're dealing with blended types the age written on the bottle is that of the youngest sort present in the mix.
We'll start off with something simple: Jameson.
For any beginner, Jameson is the way to go. It's a blended Irish, triple distilled, whiskey. Basically the irish standard as far as commercial brands go.
The flavour is very smooth, IE it won't knock you on your arse the first time you take a sip. Being a rather typical irish whiskey, it is also not smokey at all.
It is also the basis for any real Irish Coffee, and if you suspect that the barman has made you one with any other type of whiskey, you should go inform him of that and ask for a new one.
In general, it's an easy one to drink. As I said, if you're a beginner, or maybe just want something cheap that you can enjoy often, then Jameson is a good bet.
All in all, I recommend it!
In the interest of fairness, let's grab a hold of what is essentially the scotish equivalent, a rather cheap and commercially succesful "standard whisky"; The Famous Grouse.
It is a blended scotch, and you've probably seen it advertised on the television.
Also being one often recommended to beginners, Famous Grouse is not quite as smooth as Jameson, but still falls comfortably within the smooth part of the spectrum, being just a tad sharper on the tongue.
You could easily describe it as being a "regular" whisky. Not fantastically good, nor in any way bad, just...plain. For those who delight in all manifestation of the malted brews, it'll do just fine, but it is not likely to encourage any epiphanies.
Tune in later for my next issue, which will be looking at the slightly better, and slightly worse, that the world of spirits has to offer!
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