CAUTION: Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
12 Days: 12 Movies – Special Edition
So, here we are for the second time this year. I don’t watch Star Wars enough. No, really. As much as I love the franchise, discuss it at the JC, and can ramble on for hours with endless trivia and minutiae about it, I spend more time reading SW comics/novels and playing SW games than I do actually watching the movies.
For a long time this was deliberate. I didn’t want to watch the movies to saturation point, where I’d automatically auto-pilot when one came on. But when the Clone Wars series started in 2008, all of a sudden I was getting new SW every week, and was even less inclined to squeeze in a movie on top of it. After the series finished, I felt a little burned-out. As much as I loved the series, it was nice to be able to step back and let it all absorb.
Star Wars fans have gone from getting two hours of material every three years to getting nine and a half hours of material over six months. It’s a bit of a rush.
So, in 12-Movies tradition, I’m going to watch a Star Wars feature every day for twelve days, and review them here. I know what you’re thinking: ”…but there are only six movies”. For the most part, I’ve got that covered; and it doesn’t involve watching the god-awful Ewoks cartoons (ironically, I love the Droids cartoons. I can’t explain it either).
So, buckle up and shake your head in despair as I review the highs and lows of my beloved franchise in one massive hit. They won’t all be gushing reviews, but they will be appreciative.
First up: Star Wars: A New Hope
DISCLAIMERS: • ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organizations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
DISCLAIMERS: • ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organizations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
CAUTION: Yen's blog contains harsh lanugage and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
Well, the last month's certainly zipped by. Largely helped by the fact that I'm now used to not drinking. But fuck it, we're here now. Today is the 26th September, and on the 27th I can drink again.
It's been an interesting 100 days. I've proved to myself that I can live without beer (with the exception of my gratis days, of course). In fact, I've accomplished exactly what I set out to, and achieved exactly what I expected.
I won't be doing this again unless a doctor tells me to.
I'll be posting up a blog tomorrow in celebration of B-Day. You stay classy, internet!
DISCLAIMERS: • ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organizations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
CAUTION: Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
Well, we're on the final stretch now, people! The end is in sight. Less than one week until this ridiculous self-imposed charade is over.
Ironically, I've kind of settled into the groove now. While I miss the idea of having a pint, I've been 'dry' for so long that I'm just sort of used to it. Not that it's going to continue. Unless something clicks in the next seven days, I haven't turned into that "actually, I think I'll just give up for good"person twat that I feared was round the corner.
As a result of me being unnervingly content, there's even less to write about it. Oh, I still really miss white wine. our lass had some the other night and it smelled fucking gorgeous. Looking forward to an ice-cold Pinot Grigio may be keeping me sane. Yes, I know how that sounds.
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In other news, I was walking out of Sainsburg's on Friday afternoon, and the guy in front of me was leaving with some dry-cleaning he'd collected. Now using my keen skills of assumption deduction, I noticed he was with his wife/girlfriend and was in fairly presentable clothes. Which is to say the pair of them were wearing casual, clean clothes.
I can hear you from here : "Well maybe he was picking his suit up? Or his dry-clean-only coat?"
Alas, no. He was picking up his army uniform. Not a dress-uniform, like an officer's suit or spangly-parade version; He was picking up his desert-camo gear. I could see it through the bag. Now I know that you're still scratching your head over there: "...and?"
It just set me wondering; how insanely impractical is it to have your military forces wearing dry-clean-only uniforms? Why didn't he just do it in the machine? He looked presentable enough, he's clearly got the facility to wash his own clothes. I'm fairly certain it was his uniform, as his build and hair would suggest he'd be in the armed forces. Even if it wasn't his, it was someone's.
I just don't think it gives off the fearsome-warrior impression if our guys are out in Basra, up to their necks in insurgents, and the sounds you hear in between the gunfire are a mincing "Ooh, look at that! Mud! I'll never get that out! I had to take these trousers back twice last week because of the blood! And he was going to bloody charge me again!"
While I'm sure that the uniforms can be dry-cleaned, I can't believe that they're dry-clean only. That'd just be fucking stupid. Now I know the next thing you're thinking: "Why didn't you go and ask him, then? There are two reasons:
One: The aforementioned thoughts cascaded over the next 5 minutes or so. We went in different directions after Sainsburg's, so by the time I'd reached the conclusion that it was fucking stupid, he was nowhere to be seen.
Two: Inevitably, the question would have worked its way down to me, a thirty-something unfit man, telling him, a thirty-something trained killer, that his choice of garment-cleaning was "fucking stupid". I have little doubt that it would have happened. Because when my twisted logic grabs me, real logic seems to go out of the window.
Fuck it, I'll never know. And neither will you. ...I need a drink.
DISCLAIMERS: • ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organizations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
