Lock, Stock

Reading J’accuse’s ‘It’s been emotional’ post got me thinking. It seems like ages since my obsession with that movie started. I can still remember, some time in 1998 I think it was, when a friend of mine, Leon, came raving about this movie that another friend, had just given him after a trip to England.

“He’s exaggerating. As usual” I thought.
But he made me sit through it there and then. He was that impressed with the movie. I, on the other hand, wasn’t. To tell you the truth I couldn’t figure out what the hell was happening. The faces looked pretty much the same to me and I couldn’t grasp that accent.

So not two seconds after Tom vanishes from the screen he asks me what I thought.
“Nothing special” I muttered.
“Rate it” he retorted after pulling one hell of a weird expression.
“Maybe an 8” I said unconvincingly, after some thinking.
“And how many 8 out of 10 movies have you seen recently, eh?”
The gentleman had a point and it ended there.

Until I watched it the second time that is. It must have been at our rehearsal place. Back then, when we were the equivalent of bums, we had the habit of killing time (along with brain cells, livers and lungs) by watching films at the garage. The complex storyline was starting to make more sense.
“This is truly a great movie!” I thought. But this was just the appreciation phase. The obsession would only begin once I got it on video and watched it for the third time. KABOOM! It felt like something out of a comic book. Light came out of the TV set and I became the Lock, Stock guy.
From then on the streets of Paceville would be tormented on a weekly basis by the drunken citations of entire conversations from the movie. To all the victims, I apologise. I can now understand why you hate the movie.
I was even watching the movie when the rest of the planet was celebrating the coming of the new millennium.
“New Year’s Eve 1999, what were you doing Pat?”
“Watching Lock, Stock mate!”

Now hold on a minute. This isn’t as nerdy as it sounds. I was unable to go out due to a sodding ear infection. I would not have passed on an occasion to party my backside off. But once locked, stuck and barred from going out, there wasn’t any questions as to what I will be doing that night.
Anyways, eventually Snatch came out and it was good. Not as good, obviously. Too Holywood. Something my friends who watched Lock, Stock after Snatch could never understand or appreciate. And that was it. Eventually the obsession started to dwindle and I am now an ex-Lock, Stock obsessive. Of course, this does not mean that you can watch the movie with me without hearing the dialogue in bad surround…

Tick Tock (2)

Meeting Toni Sant

I knew Toni Sant was going to be giving lectures today. Didn't know that I would end up meeting him. I knew I would meet il-Fre. Didn't know he would be meeting Toni. And so the story goes.

Fre wasn't much wiser about the meeting. He just got a message from Toni requesting a meeting. The reason was a mystery. We decided that Toni wants to overthrow the system and was enlisting the charming guy with the hat for this endeavor. There were no two ways about it. I would have to join the uprising. The force might not be strong with me but I can always act like a wookie, especially when drunk.

So along I went with il-Fre u il-mara tieghu to room 255. Toni was still going on with the lecture and this worried me.

"Could the uprising afford losing nine minutes?" I wondered.

Before I had time to decide, a head popped out of the door. It was Toni's; and it was floating in mid air like a meditating guru on acid. He looked left and right for a couple of times, verging on the speed of sound, and then decided that we're the rebels he was looking for. He asked us to give him a minute and soon enough he was standing next to us.

What followed was a brief but very interesting conversation; mainly with il-Fre. The contents of which is not really any of your business, just as it isn't any of mine. All I can say, however, is that to my disappointment there was no talk of any uprising.

Toni was full of energy and enthusiasm. He was somewhat different to what I expected. The photo on his blog had deceived me. In it he looks like he's going to break your neck twice. And that's scary. In person, however, he was friendly, funny and oozing enthusiasm, something I admire.

All in all an extremely interesting encounter, even though very brief. So I'll leave it at that, cause I'm beginning to sound too much like Guze...

The Euro

Since everybody seems to be feeling the need to discuss the images on the euro, I thought I'd publish my zewg centezmi. I am not the conservative type but I think that the national symbol would go nice on the euro. It gives us our national identity. It represents who we are as a nation. It's the one thing that any Maltese, irrespective of what party they support, can identify with. It's the first thing that tourists see when visiting Malta. It is the root and the locomotive of our political world. It is the reason behind our, ahem, ideology. It is what keeps our economy alive (ahem, ahem). It is what gave us our pride and joy that is our first and only mountain. It is our heart and soul (cliches anyone?). Our bread and butter, if you will. Even Bon Jovi knows it. It is the symbol of our skyline. It is us: Malta.

Besides, don't you think that a crane would look good on a coin?

Gramsci's mum was a bitch

Reading Mark's post and the mentioning of Gramsci reminded me of an episode of Spaced, the coolest comedy series I've seen in these last couple of years. In this episode, from the first series, Tim tells the story of a 'class war' type guy who had a dog called Gramsci. This name stems from the dog's ability to sniff out well-off people and attack them. Pretty neat, methinks. Anyway, one day this class war chap buys a scratch ticket and, wonder of all wonder, wins! It is then that Gramsci (the dog of course) leaps at him and bites his sodding knee off causing the rebel to eventually part with his cash in exchange for a prosthetic leg. If watching this doesn't make you burst out with laughter you probably watch Eileen Montesin shows, in which case you shouldn't even be here.

Disclaimer.

The author reserves the right to like and be inspired by Gramsci. (yes, both of them)

Shut your t(r)ap!

After a pretty long day at work and a longer lecture, I am usually too exhausted to do anything more than play numbers with the remote control. Passivity is nice, sometimes.

That's what I was doing yesterday when I flicked the channel on Net TV.

After recovering from my aesthetic shock of watching Joe Grima on TV, I attempted to guess what the wide presenter was on about. Shock number two. George Pullicino on. The topic, it seems, was the environment. Words of wisdom were brushing the minister's moustache and gracing us with oracle truths . He was illuminating us with the information he got from a flier that he picked up while abroad on one of his frugal ministerial visits. He explained how we, as a people, can save the environment with a change in culture, daily actions and lifestyle. He seemed genuine enough. Then he gave us an example: "...if people close the tap while brushing their teeth in the morning..."

CUT! (*squeaking gibberish of the rewind button*) Come again Georgie? What was that? Sounds like you're asking me to close the tap. Close the tap? At that time of day, the only things I can convincingly close are my eyelids. It's fair enough I guess. I can understand that. I mean, a little effort from Joe public in the hope of cutting water consumption isn't the end of the word is it? It's even a good idea. But - and this is an even bigger butt than the one Grima was balancing on-asking me to save up on water when your own government is proposing two golf sodding courses?!?!? You must be out of your fucking mind! Either that or you are a botanical enthusiast who munched on the wrong type of mushrooms before the program. On second thoughts, that sounds rock n roll. No. I think you're just a wanker. A wanker with his own ministry.

A Headline that made my day

Walking to the office with a toxic combination of football blues, morning blues and work/course blues made me feel like a sad smurf from New Orleans. I had pretty much given up on it being a good day; and I hadn't even given my routine autograph to the persistent fans at the Personnel office yet.

The weather didn't help either. Rih isfel iboss; kif tghid il-kollega. The newspaper, however, did. It had a different opinion about the appropriate mood of the day. Now, I'm not the type of person to laugh out loud easily but I just couldn't contain myself. Of course I understand that the headline on the internet is less effective but hopefully you'll catch my drift. I opened the paper and found this: click here.

Footie (2)

Set menu for the day

Fresh lemon juice Lm1-0

Chicken breast with lemon sauce. Lm1-20

A generous portion of humble pie. Lm2-20

A slice of lemon meringue. Lm 3-20





A middle finger for Zlatan. A sympathetic pat on the back for Buffon and a 'stupidity medal' for Vieira for that yellow card. Cheers for Nedved and Trezeguet for giving us hope. Two away goals aren't that bad.

Some Favourite Albums

Drum and Bass Strip to the Bone
-Sly & Robbie

The In Sound From Way Out

- Beastie Boys

Survival

-Bob Marley & the Wailers

Rage Against the Machine

- Rage Against the Machine

Clandestino

- Manu Chao

Chill Out

-Black Uhuru

Footie

When life hands you lemons it means your favourite football team lost a match the night before. Luckily, I seldom receive the gift of bitter flavor. In part, because I have a solid alliance of work collegues who have at least made one good decision in their lives (choosing a good team) but more importantly because my favourite team aren't Alfred Sant. They just don't lose that often.

Now I'm not really obsessive about football although I have recently promoted this interest to a mild passion, which along with my other passions (ie. music, hating Man. Utd and sarcasm) keep me great company during these hectic times. Having said this I sincerely hope that my eating habits would go unchanged tomorrow. Eating humble pie is not my idea of culinary greatness. So let's hope for the best in Bremen.

il-Beaker

I was recently asked, during a lecture, to look back on my education life. It was emphasized that we should take this exercise seriously. I didn't. Neither did I look at my past. I looked at my watch instead. In all honesty, I did try to walk down that lane but my memory was throwing RTOs* at me. I have a hard time with this memory thing. So I just bluffed my way out of the exercise...

Recently, however, I remembered something from school. I was taken back to the science lab during one lesson with Fester, my ex- science teacher dude. An ex-teacher and an ex-dude too I believe (God rest his soul). But anyway, he was teaching us gits about lab instruments. Not that I cared. Or anybody else, for that matter. I mean what twelve year old kid with an allergy for science would ever imagine that they will find any of that shit practical and useful? I tell you what kid: A short-sighted one. Here's why.

It was only last week, during a conversation about creative insults with il-Fre and another bloke, that the insight and long-term vision of our education system manifested itself. There, out of the blue, springing from my subconscious mind like Mr. Hanky the xmas poo; with no warning whatsoever and with the force of explosive diarrhoea, the Beaker popped in my head and without even a chance to pat myself on the back, out of my mouth. "Beaker hara!" I uttered, with the satisfaction and smile of a twelve year old boy who just realised how useful science is.

I don't know what it is but there's just something about that image that works. It's what could be refered to as a scientific insult. In fact it's my new insult of choice. "Ja beaker hara!" I will yell out of the window when road rage pays me a visit. Feel free to use it too. Just handle it with care. It's fragile and can make a mess out of your day.

* Ask any local rambler about this.

Tick tock

Like a ticking time bomb I sometimes find myself on the very verge of explosion. My work collegues play the irritating breeze that lures the flaming fuse further to the big black bomb. I always manage to keep my cool. But a first time for everything I heard them say there surely is. And I seriously feel this blast is on its way...

The Carnival

Is it just me or has the Nadur carnival become the most popular three hills offering since il-bott il-blu? Am I the only one with a feeling that it has become more mainstream than Fab Fanny? I mean, I've been hearing so many people planning for this event that I can hardly get myself to refer to it as the spontaneous carnival without snickering.

Now don't get me wrong. I'm not the type to mourn the carnival's 'purity' or any of that sort of hogwash. In fact I have never been to the carnival. I have been meaning to go for years but unfortunately I find that I am much, much better at procrastinating than I am at doing. Either way, going to Gozo and finding Malta is not my cup of whisky. So I'll leave all the veteran fans and all the newbies to enjoy indulging in grotesque masks and surreal partying. Hopefully we'll get to read some stories on a couple of local blogs. Like the one that inspired my train of thought.

Saturday Night Live

Being a stand up comedy fan (yeah, local politics is a blast) I was thrilled to learn that Ed Byrne was going to perform in Malta. I had watched bits and pieces of his act on TV and was blown away by one skit he had about Alanis Morissette. Click here.

So off I went to Qawra with a bag of anticipation and a pocketful of expectations. Both the compere and the first act were good. Nothing you'd write home about though. Just a bit on your blog would be enough. Glenn Wool was funny although I think his style of comedy was not fully appreciated by the Maltese audience (excluding of course any mention of Arabs. Something that is guaranteed to go down pretty well with the locals). He was fun though ("Don't mix acid with cocaine. The last thing you'll need when having hallucinations is confidence..."). Unfortunately I couldn't fully get what he was on about. Whether this was due to his drunken-like mumbling or his accent I am not quite sure . Having said that I think that all in all he was the perfect warm up for the comedy master.

Not really too much to say about Ed Byrne. All the press quotes on his website are pretty spot on and the title of 'comedy master' doesn't in anyway feel like an exaggeration. Don't really wish to hype him up too much but what the heck, the bloke deserves it. His unpretentiousness is enchantingly charming and his material is sure to instantly win over the king of cynics. Those of you who missed it, well, tough shit. Your loss folks, wait for his DVD.

Obviously these type of articles usually end up with the obligatory thanking of the sponsors, the cheers to the organisers for a fun night etc. I won't do it. To tell you the truth I think that irrespective of how great a night it was, LM9.50 is a bit expensive for less than 3 hours worth of entertainment. The organisers are sure to be milking this niche market (made up of a majority of yuppies) and we live-comedy-deprived lot pay for it. So although theoretically I think it's expensive; in practice, I think I would pay again to see comic acts of Ed's caliber. It's not like I can catch a plane and go to London whenever I'm in need of comedy now can I? The departure tax would square it up, wouldn't it?

Ghosts of Merton

Three fifth form students were caught stealing exam papers. Allegedly. Of Geography.

I was starting to sarcastically wonder why, when suddenly, as if like a genie, **ppuufff** Robert Merton popped up in my head.

"Oh hi Merton..." I muttered without any hint of enthusiasm whatsoever.
"Not pleased to see me I see" he replied.
"Not really. Was kind of expecting you to pop up actually. You always do"
"Am I that predictable?"
"Not much a matter of predictability as much as it is a case of being spot on" I retorted.
"Anomie and Social Structure' again, is it? You're becoming obsessed Pat"
I stop and think for a couple of seconds before I start my defense,
"I might be Bob. I might be. But irrespective of the bulk of curses sociology students throw at you for adding 'the adaptations' to their 'things to memorise' list, I really think you're right. I mean, why would those fifth formers go to the trouble of stealing the exam paper if not because of the permanent pressue to pass their exams."

I went on:

"Would anybody risk it if exams where not such an important yardstick in a student's life? Would they have done it if learning was emphasized rather than making it past the pass mark?"
"Mmmm. But; but if you've read my magnum opus you'd know I never spoke about exams at school..."
"Like I care! It's still the same principle. It's just a smaller and different context innit?"

But before he could reply to my question he disappeared like that paper from the office. I kept wondering whether Bob was offended by my "like I care" comment or maybe he went about rewriting bits from 'Social Structure and Anomie'...

Beep, Beep, Beep

Rudely awakened digitally. Alarm clock's mocks in ecstasy. Mental whispers : wakey wake, wake, wake. Muahahaha. Rolling around in search of a truce: AHA! The snooze! Now there's an excuse that sends the morning blues to hell. For a minute or ten. Wakey wake. Grrrrr. My mind is evil. Much like that bloody clock there. Wakey wake. Ok. I get it. Point fucking taken. But do I have to go to work?* How far away is Friday then? Wait. Is that a sore throat I feel? Not quite sure. Is it too mild? Is it even there? Damn. My sick bag is empty. It's set then. Up, up, up. But do I have to go? And for that matter do I have to hum this infectious, obnoxious, some-other-oxious tune? Haven't heard this song in years. Gloom. Where did it come from? The tune I mean. Just a regular disc in my bad subconscious jukebox. Apparently. Wakey wake. Stop that shit. I'm awake for fuck's sake!

Think I'll take dump. Ahhhhhh. A nice way for a shite morning. Next step. Breakfuckinfast. Door closes. Off to work. 23.5 hours for rematch. Ding!

*Topic for another blog entry.

Lame post

Have you ever hurt your leg so bad that you're unable to walk properly? It's shit innit? Going from a room to the next makes you feel like Frodo on his way to 'Maghtab'. A never ending journey with evil encounters. Taking a piss becomes an adventure in itself and climbing the stairs a practical impossibility. Going out of the house is even worse. It feels like the world is constantly throwing gambetti at you. The pavement is suddenly a liliput bastion and all the normally quasi-tolerated potholes become conspiracy theories. If luck is on your side a low-floor bus comes your way. But then again, you realise you don't really fit in the seat. Walking takes longer and doing 'normal' activities suddenly becomes more complex. And it's not the injury that pisses you off most. It's just that the infrastructure is created with a lot of stereotypes and assumptions in mind that make no sense whatsoever when you don't fit in them. What's the use of a high pavement if you can't bend your sodding leg? Of what use is a staircase if you can't go up?

Life is shit when you're not completely mobile. And it's frustrating when you're temporarily unable to move. Freedom of movement on a micro level becomes a farce. That's the permanent reality of the physically impaired. That's the permanent reality of the socially disabled.

Mark Barnsley

"id-Dripht li kellhom id-diska Mark Barnsley?" he uttered.
..."X'sar minnu? Ilni ftit ma niktiblu".

While I always hoped that my lyrics would communicate a message, I never thought that anyone would actually be touched so much as to personally write to Mark Barnsley after listening to said song. So you can image the multiple tons of bricks that smashed my head as I learned that a lecturer of mine did exactly that. If I could explain in words the feeling I got from learning this, I'd be a writer. High is the word that comes to mind. Its a sense of achievment that no playlist or perspex stars can ever dream or hope of giving. Expression and communication are the key concepts in music. If both are present it's an explosion. One that should worry any oppressor.

Il-Fre ghandu Blog

Yeah! Fre has a blog. So go check it out. I know Joseph advertised it already but another ad for something like this is ok. This ain't Nike. Watching Fre with his enthusiasm towards his blog got me wondering why I can't keep this up. Why do I get bored after a couple of posts? Why can't I be arsed to keep it up? Beats me.

It's probably because it feels like nobody is reading. But I can't really blame anybody for that when I shave my head more often than I update this thing. Either way. Just another rant.

And now for something completely different...It's!

Was going to type something about how divorce could help increase vacant buildings in the long term but I decided not to. So i'll let you figure it out.