Anxiété du jour

So it’s been less than twenty-four hours since I made my five-a-day vegetable soup, and I’m already sick of it and want to flush it all down the toilet. See, I’m no good at batch-cooking anything except curry. Oh well, I’m sure I’ll get used to it. It’s actually a very nice soup, especially considering it’s my first, but the psychological threat of having to eat so much of the same thing for days always breaks me. Even years ago at Easter, I’d get sick of chocolate the minute I had all those eggs placed in front of me. There really must be something wrong with my brain. It just shuts down whenever it’s faced with obligation.

Oh, I think that custom guitar is finally arriving today! I got a text from a parcel company earlier, which was unexpected, so I was all like “Erm, have I been ordering stuff drunk again?!”. It’s happened, much to my previous bankruptcy. Anyway, just in case the text was a phishing scam, I checked the official courier website and, yes, there’s something definitely on its way! I can’t think what anything else it could possibly be, so that’s pretty awesome. I feel like I should smarted myself up a bit, ready for its arrival. I may even order a celebratory takeaway, breaking my short-lived attempt at a health, erm, nudge.

I’ll try and make a demo vid asap, although I’m struggling to think of how to logistically do it. I need a second person, basically. Oh well.

Speaking of guitars, my regular pub is having its first ever live music night next week, so I’ve texted the ex to ask if she’s interested in going. I’m not an evening pub drinker, unless live music is involved.

I watched Once Upon a Time in Hollywood last night and this morning. Not twice, I just stopped halfway through because, as predicted, the soup-making left me in a bit of a sweaty state. Anyway, the film was good, but a little too weighed down by period detail. Sometimes it felt like I was being banged over the head with 60s culture. There was definitely a point where I sighed and said: “Yes. I get it. It’s 1969. Now tell me a story!”. I’d say that that’s a minor complaint, but it dig get on my nerves after a while. It’s a recent movie, so I’ll separate my spoiler talk with a new paragraph…

[SPOILERS]

So yeah, I think the film can be described as the third of Tarantino’s “revisionist history” movies, after Inglorious Bastards and Django Unchained. In Inglorious, the Third Reich is killed and, I assume, the Holocaust avoided. In Django, a black slave gets bloody revenge on his tormentors. Here, much to my surprise, the Tate Murders never happen, due to Brad Pitt and Leonardo DiCaprio being so awesome. This really is Brad’s movie, by the way, so that French girl-drawing douche who’s clearly trying to win another Oscar by crying a lot can go suck it. Ahem. Quentin Tarantino is clearly a very sensitive guy, and likes to fantasise about real life tragedies never happening. I would call them “alternative history” films, but they all end where the history is changed, so you don’t really see the consequences. “Revisionist” sounds more accurate. I think.

[END SPOILERS]

…aaand we’re back! So, basically, it’s a likeably meandering film with a lot of shots taken in the backseats of cars. These shots probably mean something to Los Angeles locals but, to anyone else in the world like me, they get a bit tiresome too. I like that Al Pacino seems to be playing an out-of-time (musical pun unintended) Martin Scorsese. Pacino always seems like the sweetest guy, which is why it’s quite rare for him to play villains. His niceness always shines through. I guess he was good as Big Boy Caprice in Dick Tracy, but still oddly loveable. I’ll probably go to my grave not giving a flying fuck who Margot Robbie is, as she’s just kinda there in this movie but, hey, she excites nerds when she has pigtails and swings a baseball bat, so I guess that’s, erm, something.

That’s my little film review out of the way, methinks!

I’m feeling a little tense due to the bad weather and my balcony flood getting higher and higher, but I only have to wait until the council comes out in the morning. If they do actually turn up. Apparently they’ve been sued over poor repairs, which is no surprise at all. There must be some ignorant, alpha-male dope running the show. He was confident in the job interview though, which is, sadly, all that seems to matter these days. Sigh.

Oh crikey, the rain is getting so heavy! Eek!

Righty-ho, I best go make a posh, candle-lit dinner ready for my new guitar to arrive. And perhaps get some sandbags ready.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!