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!
tisdag 30 juni 2009
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!
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