You are currently browsing the category archive for the 'Personal' category.
Coffee-cat.NET
Hopefully this time (more) permanently. There are still some bits and pieces need to be imported, but it’s there and it’s running. Blog is now part of the portfolio. LJ feed will be updated soon.
I might be moving out of WordPress.com to a local installation pretty… soon-ish? Basically, I’ve just purchased a friggin’ 20 GB webspace (domain transfer still in progress though), and I need to fill ‘er up. Read the rest of this entry »
Um, crack, possible brain-damage alert. Because I keep my promises, one step at a time.
I know, I’ve been sodding out irksome book/film review, but I was trying to trickle some Amazon’s cash my way as either way I hardly know where to begin untangling my jumbled, knotty (but essentially very sheltered) real life.
Anyway, if you’d like to skip the ostentatious review trites and get on with the juicy (?) gossips of German opera zombie dragon, Gondwana beasts, Superman and whatnot, the password is [removed]. Now that I’ve shown you mine, show me yours.
There.
Yeah. Again. A year (and a half) in LJ, a year in blogzy (which is discontinuing, a pity), and now here in WordPress. Oh yes, it’d be just as temporary, perhaps even less (at least I hope so). Because my exquisite plan to move it permanently to my domain has been bowled over by yours truly’s equally dazzling fatuousness that caused the whole server to crash.
With that glorious splat.
But I shall not give up, to the cultivation of syncretic drecks, to the glory that is the manure to feed the cashcows. But this will have to do for my gratuitous bitching. For now.
Oh yeah, music, book, films: recommend?
Hello, this has been overwhelming, how shall I… let me count the ways… I’ve started working full-time in a theatre company, and it’s a physical, construction job (you know, the usual: painting, sculpting, chuxing, flossing, burning, cable-tying, drilling, metal-sawing, rigging, etc.) that involves no sitting down in front of a computer, let alone being bored enough to sneak off and read emails (or LJs, or porns). Extremely, supremely fun—I don’t regret it one bit that I rejected an offer from a better-paying, ‘posh’ air-conditioned webdesign company for this garage of a workshop—having once been a tree-hugger with an eager naivety for CoFA’s promises and ready to cynically smirk at almost anything, I found myself overcome by call it a tenderness I’d never go quite to the back of lest I got bogged. At the moment we’re doing an absolutely massive, humongous dragon prop for The Magic Flute for the Opera House in February (free tickets to see fat ladies singing in German, yay!), but starting the next following week we’d be starting on something else entirely. Read the rest of this entry »
A few things have been hampering my ability to get words down out of the cranium. Before I forget, thanks to everyone who wished me a happy day of exiting (no, not exciting) the womb. I’ve tried my best to say my thanks to each one of you lovelies, but I think I’ve missed one (or twelve), my apologies. I received my first ever, wish-list present: the pages read and re-read, scribbled, dog-eared and lovingly snuggled to sleep. Dearest long-lost twin, thank you very muchly. I can’t put it into words that’d do it justice, perhaps after I’ve dusted the cobwebs and wisps of cotton from my head. In the meantime, I’ll just stick this old review up.
A Son Called Gabriel
by Damian McNicholl (2004)Backcover said, ‘Evoking a sense of time and place as compelling as Angela’s Ashes and At Swim, Two Boys, and the courageous spirit of Billy Elliot . . .’ Should’ve known better: After all, praises for At Swim, Two Boys has already made me wonder if reviewers know any other Irish writers than Joyce. Aside from the fact that A Son Called Gabriel is set in Ireland (but in the 60s-70s) and the main character is struggling with the issues of homosexuality (among others), it doesn’t ‘evoke’ anything that remotely reminds me of At Swim, Two Boys. Frankly I think it’s rather… flat? It’s an easy read, one that you can easily finish in a few hours, and—having grown in a strictly Catholic family (and Catholic school) myself—I can somewhat relate to the ‘loving’ but stifling atmosphere. It has some good moments, but nothing that would leave you dazed or compelled to reread.
And you bundled-up folks in Melbourne, your promised packages will be sent come the afternoon. I’m sure the paperbag will make a nifty, crackling bonfire.
Recent Comments