Kill everyone now! Condone first degree murder! Advocate cannibalism! Eat shit! Those are my political beliefs.

Im back in England, briefly. Eavesdropping on everyone. Some interesting stuff.

In Sainsburys...
'You naughty boy! Come here! Put that down!'

In John Lewis...
'By, I needed that sandwich. I was hungry!'

In Nationwide...
'Now, perhaps you can tell me exactly what the problem is. I've never had anything like this before. You'll go and check? Right, well why don't you toddle off and do that. Now.'

I also have an old copy of Halliwell's (1200-page) film guide. The last one published before Leslie Halliwell died. After that, somebody else took over and rewrote a lot of the negative reviews. In this edition, published in 1989, nothing post 1970 gets a four star review. He's grumpy and nostalgic.

For documenting forgotten films, this is a goldmine.
Ill pick some pages at random.


p. 389

A Game for Vultures
GB 1979 w Richard Harris, Richard Roundtree

In Rodhesia, a sanctions-buster comes to understand a black freedom fighter. After a lot of violence and attitudinizing, that is, in this unattractively pretentious piece of bloodthirsty hokum.

The Gang That Couldn't Shoot Straight
US 1971 w Jerry Orbach, Leigh Taylor-Young, Robert de Niro

Members of the New York Mafia organize a cycle race and start antagonisms that end in mass murder.
Unfunny black comedy with all concerned gesticulating wildly.


from p 602.

Little Accident
US 1930 w. Douglas Fairbanks Jr, Anita Page

A man is about to marry again when he finds that his first wife is having his baby. Stretched-out comedy which fumbles its way along.

The Little Ark
US 1971 d James B. Clark

Two war orphans and their pets, trapped in a flood, sail to safety in a houseboat.

Well-meaning, somewhat allegorical family film, too desultory to maintain interest and rather too frightening for children.

from p 155.

Burglar
US 1987 w Whoopi Goldberg

An ex-con turns tec to avoid arrest as a cat burglar.
Strained comedy which is too goofy to sustain its mystery elements.

Bunco Squad
US 1950 RKO

The police expose a fake medium. Slightly unusual cop caper.

Burke And Hare
GB 1971

The story of anatomist Dr Knox and his body snatchers, retold with emphasis on the local brothel. Depressing in its childish attempts to be gruesome and perverted.


All from Halliwell's Film Guide 7th edition.

Good times! Unless you thought this was boring.

GENESIS 9:29 And all the days of Noah were nine hundred and fifty years: and he died.

INT A darkened auditorium. At one end a large screen is showing a football match. There are several tables and at one side, a bar. At one of the tables, ANDREW, a simpleton, is sitting with KARESZ, a bearded thirty something.

ANDREW: So, its Friday night, Karesz. 10-30 and we're watching Poland Ecuador.
KARESZ: Yeah. (grins)
ANDREW: It's not a very good game, is it?
KARESZ: No.

A long pause. ANDREW and KARESZ stare blankly at the huge screen.

ANDREW: A bit of a waste of time in fact.
KARESZ: Hmmmmm.
ANDREW: Don't you have anything better to do?
KARESZ: Sorry?

Another long pause.

ANDREW: Well, for example, you're a university professor. And it's exam period. Don't you have exams to mark or something?
KARESZ: No.
ANDREW: Okay. Well, my point is that we aren't really getting much from this game.
KARESZ: So.
ANDREW: We could be reading. Learning things.
KARESZ: I've already done a lot of reading.
ANDREW: Right. But, you can always learn something new.
(KARESZ frowns)
From the newspaper. Or something else. Jeffrey Archer. Camus. Philosophy.
KARESZ: So?
ANDREW: I mean, we could get something from that. But not Poland and Ecuador.

(Half-hearted cheers are heard from the handful of people gathered in the auditorium. Poland have just hit the post.)

KARESZ: Okay. Then. Let's say I did that.
ANDREW: What?
KARESZ: Went home and read something.
ANDREW: Yes.
KARESZ: Like Camus.
ANDREW: Yes. (Pause) Camus. Sartre! Archer. (ANDREW frowns and scratches his head. A very long pause.) Descartes!
KARESZ: Yes. And I read for an hour and a half.
ANDREW: Hmmmmm.
KARESZ: Then... what?

Pause.

ANDREW: Yeah! Then what? (grins stupidly, then holds his hand up for a high five. KARESZ picks up his beer and looks back at the screen.)

CUT

Deagle. Deagledeagledeagledeagle.

I knew that I used to have a blog somewhere. What Ive been meaning to do for some time is post a link. Click on it and this stuff becomes a hundred times more readable. Thanks, Tex.

I was at a Joe Dante quadruple bill on Friday, 70 kilometres outside Budapest. It was actually a quintuple bill, but for us, five films seemed like one too many.
Looney Tunes - Back In Action didnt make the cut.

Meanwhile, back in Budapest, my friend bumped into Dante this afternoon on Vaci Utca. This might some kind of wind up, but as far as I can tell, its true. And there is, apparently, convincing photographic evidence. (After I finish writing this, Im going over to his house to see if Dante is really as bulky as I imagine him to be.)
And I have some questions. How did he recognise Joe Dante? What did he say to Joe Dante? What would you say to Joe Dante? Whats more, was Joe Dante in the audience at his own quintuple bill? Did he, like us, deem Looney Tunes missable? What has Dante got up his sleeve?
And, why the fuck couldnt I have met Joe Dante? Its not fair. Stupid bullshit.

It gets deeper than Deepak Chopra

Props to my school, Cure. For the last hour, I've been sitting here watching hip hop videos, drinking leftover party beer. This wouldn't have happened at NOVA.

I've also been walking around for most of the day with the remote control from the school's CD player in my pocket. Unfortunately, that didn't turn out to be nearly as fun as I thought it was going to be. I realised that I had it around three o' clock, near Nyugati station. First, I pulled it out and zapped a tram, then turned it on a pedestrian, before shooting it into a Fiat driver's face. I imagined myself tipping my head back, laughing maniacally, sparks flying, buildings crashing to the ground.

Actually, nothing happened. Anyway, an hour later, I ended up at my friend's house, with a bowl of chicken and scallop soup. I tasted that, zapped it, tasted it again. So, I tried to pause the chef then zapped the rice cooker. Nothing happened. At this point, I was just about ready to turn the remote control on myself.

Luckily, I didn't. Otherwise I might not be in a position to write this. Actually, what I need is a universal remote control. And I think I know where I can get one. So.

IGEN

My friends, Sally and Rachel were over at the weekend. Said I'd give them a mention on the site. They spent five days here - ate cakes, went to the baths, ate cakes, visited the art gallery, ate cakes, went to cake shops and ate cakes.
It was nice to play with them - only the second time in four years, more maybe. A reminder of how time gets away from you.

They tired me out though. I was pretty exhausted last night, in bed by nine thirty. Earlier than Pisti Kovacs, I'd imagine. (If you aren't familiar with Pisti, scroll down to the fourteenth of March.)

Voting in the general election took place last night and I missed all of the tv coverage. The cameras in Pisti's home, the interviews with Pisti's Mum and Dad, the cameras following Pisti to the local convenience store to watch him jubliantly buying chocolate, Pisticam, Pistivision, Pistirama.

Pisti's party, SZDSZ, were pretty successful, actually. It sounds shit, but they got 6.3 per cent of the vote. This enables them to form a coalition goverment, presumably with Pisti near the head. Minister for ice cream.

Although, there will be a second ballot in two weeks because the election was pretty close. I'm hoping this means more Pisti from now on, not less. Good times.

‘Baby U… Uhh… He a psychopathic… He a psychopathic thinker…’

I moved house at the weekend, to a pretty central apartment. I feel like my perspective of the city has shifted, like places have repositioned themselves on the map. I’ve fixed the place up a bit too, put some posters on the walls, something familiar - make myself feel a bit more comfortable. Not that I’m some kind of trauma victim.
I also discovered, after dribbling so much soup on the tablecloth that I had to wash it, that the table in the kitchen has a fucking chessboard INSIDE IT. It’s mind expanding.

When I was packing up, I found myself playing ‘Enter the Wu Tang’ over and over. There isn’t any point in calling it my favourite hip hop album, but it might be.
A memory came back to me when I was listening to this, and by busting it out here I accept that I don’t sound too ghetto, too street.

I was in the back of the car on the way to my Auntie and Uncle’s house in Sunderland. We were going to have some kind of family dinner.
I was halfway through the album (I’d had it for a while, maybe only the fourth rap album I bought) when things kind of fell into place. Looking back now, I remember hearing the line

‘Steamrolling niggas like an eighteen wheeler with a drunk driver driving, there’s no surviving’

and rap music seemed to click. At the time, this song reminded me of a tune called Cold Duck Time, recorded at the Montreux Jazz Festival with Les McCann, Eddie Harris and Benny Bailey trading breathless solos. Anyway, pretty thrilled, I reached over to my brother, tapped him on the shoulder and passed him the headphones. He listened for a while, shrugged and gave me them back.

I still don’t think that there is much that can touch this album, thirteen years after it was released. Aside from the production and lyrics, the contrast in the rappers’ voices is amazing, like they are all instrumental virtuosos. RZA rasps, Ol Dirty is unpredictable and unhinged, Ghostface sounds young and comprehensible.
It is full of great lines, too.

‘I bake the cake, then take the cake and eat it too, with my crew while we head state to state’

‘Throw your shitty drawers in a hamper, next time come strapped with a fucking pamper’

‘Here I go, deep fried flow, Jacques Cousteau could never hit this, yo’

‘For crying out loud, my style is wild, so book me,
not long is how long this rhyme took me’

‘Turn the other cheek and I’ll break your fucking chin’

‘There’s no place to hide once I step inside the room,
Dr Doom, prepare for the boom!
Bam! Ah man! I slam!
Damn! I scream like Tarzan!’

My friend came round for a cup of tea yesterday afternoon, and when she took my copy out of the CD player, we discovered that it was broken, almost in piecez. Tired. Still, word.
Yes. And did you hear? Whitney Houston is on crack.

The Muslims beat the Gay team 4-0 and went on to win the final 4-1

So, if you like the idea of me looking silly, pull up a chair and get yo get it right.

I had an absolutely catastrophic journey to work this morning - it ended with me ten minutes late for class because I fell into a hole. I felt like I was in the Benny Hill show, staggering around the pavement, mud up to my knees, glaring at sniggering motorists while still trying to keep my eyes on the prize. Which was still ten minutes walk away.

The journey started with me lying in bed at 6. 37, thirteen minutes before the last point that I am realistically able to leave the house and still get to work on time. From under the covers, it made perfect sense to stay there for another five minutes or so. In fact, I could have done with being in the Benny Hill show when I finally did get up - get me moving a bit quicker. Although if I were, I cant imagine that shower would have gone particularly smoothly.

It must have been 6. 57 when I busted out into the street. However I had no idea, because my watch was in the bathroom.
After walking five minutes, I got to the subway station at 8. 02. Or did I? No I didn't, unless Bajza Utca station is in a different fucking time zone. Still, that's what the station clock said.

Relieved, sitting down on the train, I absently checked my pockets and realised that my travel pass was in my other trousers.
Now, Im going to have to sneak out of Deak subway station! Run around to the front of the station! Buy some more tickets! Validate them! Show them to the inspectors swarming around the underground! Clatter down the escalators! Weave through the punters! Get to the red line train just as the doors close in front of me! Which is great! Because time is on my side!

So, I did that and enjoyed it - on the way through Deak square I
noticed that it was already 3. 37 pm. When I finally got to Deli Palyaudvar, I had ceased to care what the real time was, although if Id checked a clock, I would probably have noticed it was around 11pm.

After throwing my ticket at a largeish ticket collector, shouting too quickly for him to understand, I hit the pavement, deciding that I would stand more chance of getting to work on time if I trotted lightly. Then, I fell into the hole.

So, thats it. I sat in my class feeling silly and wet, discussing some grammar, trying to keep my legs under the table so as not to draw attention to the brown mud all up my trousers and in my shoes. I was full of happy memories of the journey, too. Dropping the coins all over the floor by the ticket machine! Panicking when I noticed the times! Sending incomprehensible text messages about my being late to a student who didn't even come to the lesson! Didn't even come to the lesson!

Ive certainly learnt my lesson, anyway - there is quite a large hole in the pavement not far from Deli station. Its probably better to trot around it rather than into it.