West Wing? More like BEST wing...

"I have wit, I have charm, I have brains, I have legs that go all the way down to the floor, my friend"

"I drink from the keg of glory. Bring me the finest muffins and bagels in all the land"

"Why should we go to Mars? Cause it's next. Because we came out of the cave and we looked over the hill and we saw fire. And we crossed the ocean and we pioneered the West and we took to the sky. The history of man is hung on a timeline of exploration and this is what's next."

If for the sake of argument in some kind of Greek-gods-gift-bestowing-upon-me type manner I could write like Aaron Sorkin but in order to do so I would have to be a crack addict...it would be totally worth it.

Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins

Lolita has been on my 'To Read' list for an absurdly long time. Perhaps the joy of reading it was partly personal triumph and the joy of ticking an item off a list - perhaps it's just that it's AMAZING. I wish I could more eloquently express what a stunning piece of work it is. As a child I wore glasses. I have a vague and possibly false memory of the time I first saw the world clearly; the clarity, the sharpness, the colour - this is how I felt reading Lolita. My literary glasses are on and the world is clear again. Hurrah for Nabokov. And paedophilia.

I wish I were joking - it seems I'm drawn to it these days; I'm fairly disturbed by the fact that the next book I read also centred around inappropriate adult/child relationships: The Rehearsal by Eleanor Catton. I feel it would be pretentious to suggest that writing about other people's writing is a false echo of the real thing and has something to do with Plato's shadows on the cave - in other words it's totally douchey. That being said, this book is really, really good. The writing is like nothing I've ever read and I wish I'd written more of it down so I could impress people at parties by pretending the words were my own. I go to some wild parties. My only worry it it seems more like a long short story than a novel; what is it about writers that they think if they write stunningly we'll ignore the fact that the plot doesn't really resolve? My other Only Worry is that Eleanor Catton was born in 1985. This isn't a problem in itself, but hark, what's that? She published the book in 2007? This girl wrote this incredible book at 20. I'm trying to teach myself to change my perspective on this; rather than be intimidated by this and feel like I haven't acheived enough and it's shameful I haven't written a novel yet, I have a different perspective. I am motivated and inspired to acheive more and do more and be more. If I say that enough it will become true.

Thou Art

Last week I attended the ukelele fest that was Thou Art; an indie-esque festival in the depths of Suffolk. There were a lot of cool people there; I slightly felt like I was soaking it up by osmosis. There were so many brilliant things about it, so here are just a few:

Bunting:

Art on trees:

Face-painted tambourine wielding singers:

But best of all - amusing signage:

Next year you should definitely go.

Working 9-5: Tales of a Dolly Parton Cliche

Ah, how I love the smell of Metros in the morning. It's like the news, only less substantial. The long commute to and from work has been providing plenty of amusements - highlights include the guy I sat down next to who whipped out a pack of cards and proceeded to practice hand-cardy-flick-poker-type-things for FORTY MINUTES, the young teenage girls clearly on their way to have 'the best time ever' taking photos of themselves in various train related poses - including putting rubbish in the bin - and finding it hilarious (oh to be young again), or the Hooray Henry yesterday morning barking a very rude joke about hung parliaments which I'm too polite to repeat. Or I can't remember it.

The real fun, however, begins in the office. Some professions have built-in excitement - as a doctor, or a fireman, or florist (go with it) - you know every day will bring the ups and downs of life, death, love and loss. And burns. If like me, you're a thrillseeker in academic publishing...you have to seek pretty hard. Which is why it made my day last week when, after handing me a list of herculean tasks (e.g. emailing) my manager picked up an author's file and said this:

"Now this might take you a little longer...I want you to try and get in touch with this guy. We haven't heard from him in a while, I'm not sure we have current contact details for him...also, we think he might......be dead."

This is a true publishing mystery - it has everything: late manuscripts, missing people, potential death, and a large file. I am now keeping my eyes out for a deerstalker hat so I can get to the bottom of the puzzle as Arthur Conan Doyle intended.

I have no real way of linking to this, but I just think it's amazing. Parton sings 9-5 with Minnie Mouse.

Being Heliocentric is Fun

The lovely people at Information Is Beautiful have imagined what would happen if our solar system was a music box. It is incredibly awesome. I could try and explain but it would be easier if you could just go here and press play...

A Tragically True Story

A wise man once said that the course of true love does not run smooth, and he was correct. I shudder to think what he would have to say about this story...

Once upon a time a sprightly young lady was..(ok it was me)...I..was conversing with a young gentleman who shall henceforth be known as Arty Fringe Guy. AFG was lovely. He talked about art and photography in such earnest yet animated tones that it was clear there were parts of his soul that had not yet been crushed by groaning yoke of adulthood. I tried to keep up and impress him by saying things like "yeah... apertures...darkrooms...uh huh. I love David Bailey".

It was all going rather well. That is, until he leaned in dangerously close...part of me thought "woah there, hun, I mean it's not that I'm not flattered but this is a place of business!" (Did I mention we were in the staffroom at work? Cause we were)..but then again I also thought fair enough, can't complain, he is AFG after all. It became abundantly clear pretty quickly, however, that his intentions were not romantic when he said this:

"Are your teeth...bleeding?"

There are multiple tomes on dating and the best way to attract members of the opposite (or same) sex..none of them advocate bleeding from the mouth in such a way that you look like a vampire. People may say want to bang Edward Cullen but it is not the same thing. (I don't want to admit to watching Twilight, but on the Edward/Jacob debate..maybe just pick a guy who isn't a mythical creature? Just a thought.) Needless to say, AFG pretty much ran away. And so did my dignity.

Make Tea Not War

I mentioned before that I once made a comic about making a cup of tea... if you ever for a second wondered what that would be like, wonder no more...