Big Boredom
Every year upto now, I try and avoid Big Brother as much as possible, but I end up getting hooked. This year was different, as I went in
gung-fucking-ho and watched it from day one. And, a few weeks in, I can say I'm bored of it.
"But it's the best series ever!" I hear you all scream. Apparently it is, but then so's every year. This year I just haven't wanted any of them to win. I don't care for any of them, as they are all pricks. Hate to say it, but actually some of the more* sane housemates have left the house (even though they were never huge favourites of mine), left are the cocky southerners (who, to be fair, I liked for a bit. But they're turning into the kind of people who are you're friends, yet they're staying at your house, and they overstay their welcome, never clean up after themselves and use up all the bog roll), and the slightly more likeable errr....everyone else. So in the end, I just thought "fuck it, I've got better things to do with my time. I can talk about something else over our morning cup of tea in the zoo. Like football, or video games, or one of the hundreds of better shows on the box at the moment.
Ah, such is the beauty of sky. Sure, you can watch 40 hours of Big Brother a week, or - like me at the moment - 40 seconds.
* Funny story: Sarah always complains that people from "The Wrong Side of T'Pennines" (ie Yorkshire) have the most blandest taste in food. Lesley, being a young girl, no doubt like's a curry. The curry she likes (look at the favourite food) no doubt proves that theory.
WLTM
I checked
S' blog yesterday, and there was a post from anonymous (who later turned out to be somebody from
Punclox), about the status of my relationship with S.
The truth is, that me and S have split up.
You may have noticed the occasional comment on her blog, and a comment by her on my blog. This is because we broke up on great terms in late May (the day of the European Cup Final) and, whilst at the time I was a little miffed, I've grown to understand and realise that it's probably the best thing to do.
Sarah was my first relationship of any kind, I shared so many firsts with her, but we were two completely different people. So, although initial protests (which, I'll be honest, did involve somemoew manly tears) by the inexperienced yours truly, I do feel better off as friends.*
I suppose the whole nature of being single again scared me. I have never really been a hit as such with the ladies, and probably a little too shy on nights out to mingle with members of the opposite sex. The comfort of a relationship was nice to have (especially for the last six months, where I had other priorities instead of pulling), and I was blinded by comfort.
This is not a shot on Sarah too, she has been nothing but honest with me since day 1. The second that she wasn't happy, she told me. We tried to work it out, it didn't, we split up. Although my view on relationships is disturbingly small, I feel that should couples in this world can communicate with each other, then maybe they wouldn't be throwing divorce papers everywhere.
So, to summerize the burning questions that everybody had: 1. Yes, me and Sarah split up in late May. 2. The 'probelms' (as such) was that mainly we would have trouble seeing each other in the next few months. 3. We're cool about it (even though I was reluctant to begin with, now I'm fine with it). 4. I'm back on the pull again. As such, if you are female, attractive and in the possession of a brewery, and have a thing for geeky, slightly overweight, patriotic Welshmen, please get in touch.
Failing that, I can just do this.
*Sarah, please don't comment with the words "Hate to say I told you so!"
Baz Luhrmann Spoke The Truth
"Understand that friends come and go. But with a precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and life style 'Cause the older you get The more you need the people you knew when you were young."
- "Sunscreen", Baz Luhrmann
It's short of 8:30, Sunday morning. Most normal people would be in bed, S would probably be up - after seeing the night from the other side, but most normal people would be in bed.
No. Not me. Not I.
I had a wierd dream. Not one out and out scary nightmare, but a wierd dream. It's was like "fuck me, where did that come from?". The dream was basically an eye opener, relating to that statement above. In it, I dreamt it was like a reunion back in my old school somewhere down the line. Nothing too much happened, but it was wierd, as almost everybody from my old school was there.
Anyway, I guess the reason is - looking back - I did enjoy school, especially my A-Level years, but although I was really friendly with most people in the school, I really kept myself within my close friends once we left. Although they are great, I wish I kept in touch with a few more people. Kids, friends, hell - even a few teachers. I mean, it took me over 2 years to get in touch with Vicky after leaving school (and even then, it was more of luck). I mean, some people I was really close to, and I'll never see again. Sure, there's Friends Reunited, but all that's gone to show is that a) it's expensive and b) everybody on there I'm either in touch with or don't want to get in touch with and c) it's depressing as everybody seems to be all got high powered jobs somewhere down south*.
I guess that's the reason I blog. I mean, Google Rhys Wynne, and I come out promenantly in the top 10. Surely, if somebody wanted to find me, then that would be the best place to start.
* Exaggeration
It's not who I am underneath, but what I do, that defines me.
Apologies for the lack of updates, I've been busy with a few side projects and such like. I'd love to say I have been working, but I haven't. In fact, the last two days I have been off, mainly to celebrate my mate's move to the US for the summer. It's all very scary.
Anyway, me and a few of my mates went to see Batman Begins in Cineworld in Llandudno (I'm only saying it on the off chance I get free tickets). To be honest, I wasn't holding much hope for it. I went to see it largely half-arsedly (I was very happy sitting playing Wave Race on my N64, thank you very much), for something to do. I had seen the last two - which were awful - and I wasn't expecting much. Couple that with the fact it was 2 and ahalf hours long, and it was a gorgeous midsummer's night, I honestly thought that I will not like it. Nay, hate it.
My, how wrong I was.
The film is bloody brilliant! I neglected two facts. Firstly, the director is not the same as the last two. So, instead of the cartoony style of Batman Forever and Batman & Robin, you get the darker stylings of the origional and the first sequel. The second fact is that Christian Bale is brilliant as Batman. Christopher Nolan did a brilliant piece of casting, and - whilst I don't like him in the same way Ally does (who goes on to prove in her post the direct correlation between Welshmen and attractiveness), I still think he's brilliant. I'm kissing arse a bit here, but I can honestly say of all the fims I have seen Christian Bale in, every single one of them has been brilliant.
The film is a lot moodier and less campy than the last two with the armour sixpack. There is a bad guy who - unlike Dr. Freeze in the last one - you actually hate for all the right reasons. The film opens up a hell of a lot of channels at the beginning and closes them all up at the end. There's twists, there's emotion, there's balls up action, there's a shit hot car chase. This film could be the best film of the summer. Yes, even better than Star Wars III. At no time did I feel like I wanted to leave the cinema (a rarity for me), and was only once not engrossed in it. Probably one of the best films I've ever seen.
Darthiau Feidr
I've been in a silly mood, and I would like to see a Welsh Darth Vader. I dunno why, but I think it could be funny. This would be the end of Episode III. This post contians spoilers, but for fucks sake, if you were a fan, then you
must of seen it by now.
The Emperor: Lord Vader, can you hear me?
Darth Vader: Yes, master.
Darth Vader: Where is Padmé? Is she safe? Is she all right?
The Emperor: It seems in your anger, you killed her.
Darth Vader: I? I couldn't have! She was alive! I felt her!
Darth Vader: NAC YDWWWWWWWWWW!!!!
Anybody else think that is funny?
No. Just me.
Back And Forth
Hi. My name's Rhys, I'm 21 years of age, and I fucking hate
Wimbledon.
Yes, even the fact that it's full of attractive women with names ending in "getmylegova", I find it duller than dishwater. Although it's probably due to some deep psychological reasoning when I got hit in the knackers at a early age with a tennis ball, I'll try and make a reasoning for it. It's best explained how dull it is by comparing the video game equivalent of 3 sports, and seeing when they truly captured the excitement of the sport.
The excitement of football was only really captured in 2004, when Pro Evolution Soccer 4 was released.
The excitement of golf was only really captured in 2003, when Tiger Woods Golf was released.
The excitement of tennis was only really captured in 1979, when Pong was released.
As you can clearly see, the excitement to the sport is proportional to the year the game that achieved that excitement was released.
The worst thing about Wimbledon is that we play the fucking underdogs every fucking year. As a nation, we believe we are better than anybody at sport. In some (such as cricket and darts), we are. In tennis, every year, we believe we have a decent shot of winning it. Every year, we pin our hopes on Tim Henman, in the hope that he; should the moons of Saturn be aligned correctly, and there be a lunar eclipse, and he actually pull his finger out and play some proper ballsy tennis; wins a grand slam. Every year, he fails.
"He deserves it!", they cry on 'Henman Hill' (an area outside Wimbledon where people with nothing better to do for 2 weeks gather and cheer on the big loser). "Bollocks he does!", I say. The same way that apparently Coldplay deserved to get to number one because they sold less singles than the Crazy Frog.
Why do we as a nation love a loser? We need a John McEnroe type in every sport. A guy who not necessarily plays by all the rules, but is not so wet as "Tiger" Tim that he's actually adorable. All the men want to be him, all the ladies want to shag him, and all the livestock want to get eaten by him. We, as a nation, need a hero. And it's not going to be Tim Henman.
But, even if that hero comes, I still hate fucking tennis.
Too Hot To Handle?
Unless you live in
Yorkshire or
some other loser country, you will no doubt be enjoying the tip top weather we are having. Make no mistake about it: summer has definitely arrived (for this week at least).
Summer means two things for me: number one is the British media going apeshit over global warming, the second thing is both the beautiful and most annoying thing about summer.
Women wearing less.
You see, the beauty is for all to see. A bit of skin makes any woman look more attractive. No need to spell it out. However, the annoying thing is that it's not reciprical. Blokes - by nature - are ugly.
Yes. Even the metrosexual ones.
I could into great detail on why this is the case, but here's a graph, with points illustrated below.
As you can see, girls are generally proportional, whereas blokes are generally inversely proportional. Some finer points.
1. The Jodie Marsh Crack This is the point whereby a tart (such as Jodie Marsh), who goes out wearing next to nothing clubbing, falls down. Not all girls experience this, but it depends on which state of undress you see them at. Another person who languishes in Jodie Marsh's crack Sam from Big Brother, who spent so much time in a bikini that she actually got boring.
2. The Slipknot Rise This is the general increase from a bloke wearing a boiler suit and mask (hence the Slipknot reference) - which is ugly, to a point where they're wearing a jumper and jeans - respectable. This is not including firemen, who women just seem to swoon over.
3. The Peak This, unsurprisingly, is the peak at which a man can look it's best. T-shirt/shirt and jeans. After this point is downhill.
4. The short jump This is the point where a man can look most respectable in summer: wearing shorts. No speedos, and no 3/4 length trousers (more to follow). Even then, hairy legs are not nice. Anything less than that is just awful.
Of course, none of this matter. You know why? Because blokes don't care. I should know, I am one. I am sitting here wearing 3/4 length trousers and a Starsky & Hutch t-shirt, and I don't care. I may not be cool (in the fashion sense), but at least I'm cool (in the temperature sense).
And before any girls come back and say "oooh, such and such is attractive.". Maybe he is, with clothes on. Only if you have seen them naked can you pass comment.
I don't know why I'm blogging this, but nevermind.
Coming of Age....Again
After arriving back in Liverpool from a few days as a
graduate, I immediately (well.....relatively immediately) rang regular commenter Sibz seeing if he fancied a few pints in the local. He was more than happy to oblige.
Before I start this story, I'd like to point out something. My local is nothing like the stereotypical British local seen in many TV shows (American's: think "Moe's Tavern"). It's not dark and dingy. In fact, it's rather posh, so much so that it has it's own website, for christ sakes. As such, despite the rabble of locals who are alcoholics (a category including myself and my brother), we hardly recognise anybody else there. As there is usually an outside crowd.
Anyway, me and my mate walked in, went upto the bar, and heard a question we haven't heard in such a long time: -
"Got any ID?"
Needless to say I was shocked. I mean, I'm 21, the ID threshold (any older and it's a complement). I don't think I look under 18. Christ, the barman looked younger than yours. After flashing the relevant ID, the barman let me in on a secret:-
"I wouldn't of asked normally mate, but the chief constable of the North Wales Police is there."
For those of you who don't know. The chief constable of the North Wales Police - Richard Brunstrom, is a very controversial figure. The guy is one of the supporters of all the speed cameras on the road at the moment, and - even as a non driver - I don't like him. For him, Colwyn Bay is a hell of a lot unsafer, and - instead of doing something about it - he goes on record to say that heroin addicts are less harm than speeding cars. Which is all well and good, until his daughter got caught speeding. I mean, Top Gear (a quality program) see sense and lambast him, and - to be fair - I proxy disliked him through that program.
But last night gave me a reason. Okay a far fetched, pathetic reason, but a reason nonetheless.
Rhys Wynne BSc
Bugger me, I did it.
After 3 years of living like a bum, I've got something to show for it: a 2:1 in Computer And Multimedia Systems, from the University of Liverpool. That sounds so impressive. I ended up overall with a 64.5% average, which is pretty good. No thanks to Ian though, who put the kiss of death on me saying "you know, I wouldn't be suprised if you got a first!". Which meant that wednesday morning I was sick with worry. Half of me was thinking "fuck me, what if I do get a first?", and the second half was thinking "fuck me, what if I get a fail?". Both were equally likely to happen. I'm just happy I got a safe 2:1.
Hell, a first was out of the question really, I left myself an social-life-ruining mountain of work to achieve a first, so I was concentrating on not fucking up. I'm in good company of those who also got a 2:1. I mean, there's Prince William, and he's a hit with the ladies, isn't he?
In order to celebrate my degree, I had a 11ish hour bender (starting at roughly 3pm). Well, I say 11 hour, I don't remember the last two hours. Apparently I rang S up sometime during that. Fuck only knows what else I got up to.
Anyway, to answer the question on everybody's lips, boxers. Sorry. To answer the other question on everybody's lips, I have no idea what I want to do now. I'm staying in Liverpool for at least another year, but don't fancy becoming career orientated just yet. I just want a 9 to 5 unimportant job for the time being, just so I can get the money rolling in, but for another reason.
I've spent the last 3 years studying something. Now I'm going to spend the next few months finding out why I started studying it in the first place.
I need to regain my love for technology and computers. I used to scarily enjoy programming, but university didn't exactly make me enthusiastic for making it into a career. Not the actual programming bit, but the side things (the planning and evaluation stages bored the bollocks off of me), and a lot of the theory was dry. I know I can regain my love for it, just need time.
Meme-A-Rama
Is Meme pronounced "Me Me" or "Meem"? I always thought it was "Meme", but S pronounced it "Meem" on the phone when I spoke to her yesterday, which confused me to buggery. Any thoughts guys?
Anyway, as nothing too much is going on, and I've been meaning to do this for days, and that my last post is now redundant (which I don't agree with at all), here's my answer to Ally's meme.
Five Things I Miss From Childhood
1. Arcades: Each week, we got £1 pocket money off my Mum and £1 off my grandparents. I was encouraged so save, but bollocks to that! It was the early ninties, and arcades were not the scary gambling places they are now. Arcades were full of video games (most of which I'm reliving now thanks to Mame. The two we had in Colwyn Bay (The Premier and The Golden Goose) were completely different. The Premier had a lot of the newer, 3D games and driving games, whereas the Golden Goose had the games popular in the mid 80's. Every Saturday whilst my mum was shopping, we were allowed to stay in the arcade. A few of my friends were always in there, and I was more than happy to kick their faces in on whatever was popular at the time (usually it was Street Fighter II, Killer Instict, Mortal Kombat or Virtua Fighter). Happy memories were had when we used to buy magazines to find the finishing moves, ultra combos and throws for each character. One of our old teachers also was in there often, and I pretty much owned him on Street Fighter II (though he was amazing on Killer Instinct). Happy memories.
2. Commodore 64: I still have my old C64, though it's very hit and miss whether a game works. Back in the day, I had tons of games for it. These were the days where they gave away free games on the front of magazines. I remember spending AGES (and I mean ages) typing in PEEKS and POKES (which took ages) to get cheats and the like. Luckily the C64 is still well emulated, and I encourage you to try some of these games out. Mainly Summer Camp, Creatures II, Mayhem In Monsterland, Bubble Dizzy, Paradroid and the shit-scary Detective Game.
3. The Playground: For the summer of 1993, the council decided that our estate was big enough to open a playground, and they did. It was located overlooking Rhyl and Old Colwyn, and it was brilliant. For that one summer, all the kids hung out there, just having fun and the like. There were scuffles (I remember getting into a fight with some kid who's name escapes me), but we were kids. Occasions such as my mum bringing me fish and chips to the playground, and playing endless games of Danny 1,2,3 all summer long.
4. My Grandad: My grandad was like my best friend for a long time. Whenever the schools were off and my mum was working, we used to go around to our grandparents house. We used to play games in the bedroom (this was when the WWF was popular, we used to wrestle pillows on the bed), and he treated us to pringles. At 3:30, we used to watch countdown. We had our own version of "A Full English Breakfast" (Featuring a glass of coke, 6 squares of Dairy Milk Chocolate, and a bowl of cereal). He was a brilliant man, who could do anything - he worked throughout his life as a soldier in WWII, an estate agent, a TV repairman, and about 1000 other jobs. When he retired he built a boat and sailed it to the Isle of Man, just for fun. He got bored of retirement so he came out of it, to work as a part time journalist for the Daily Post. All that, and he could play the piano too!
5. Saturday Morning TV: When I was little, I much preferred the new ITV to the still stuffy BBC, and had a number of shows I loved. Motor Mouth - which featured a giant version of the classic board game Mouse Trap as one of their games. I used to wake up at 7am to watch about 4 to 5 hours of TV, before heading out into town with my mum to do shopping. Ahh, the memories.
Unlike Ally, I'm not pushy. I would like the following people to continue this meme.
Right, that's your lot for today. I'm hungover (I'll explain why tomorrow), so bugger off. And put the big light off.
The Trouble It's Crea8ed: Part 2
A few weeks ago, I mentioned that I'll be in Edinburgh at the time of the
G8 summit, although for my family holiday, and not to be a rebel (I'm not good at being one anyway). Like a lamb, and it was "the cool thing to do" (plus the lineup was pretty immense), I did try and win tickets for the concert. By answering a simple question (which I got wrong the first time, doh!), I would be entered into the draw to win one of the 75,000 pairs of tickets for a hiawge concert in London.
The deadline passed yesterday, and my mind started racing should I be one of the lucky ones. Immediately I thought "fuck me! What a concert!". But the fact that it was in London kind of put me off that idea. As such, another opinion crossed my mind.
Selling them on eBay
I mean, I've never liked Geldof (I think he's a egomaniac living in a dream world, where everybody is black and white). I'm skint, and - come this morning, I have about £60 left on my overdraft. By selling the tickets (should I win), I could clear my overdraft, even pay my rent for the year.
I really cannot see why there's a problem in selling them. By the letter of the law they are the winner's property. They can do exactly what they want with them. That's the stance I would take. For Bob Geldof to organise such a concert, and not expect for people to profiteer, is so short sighted. In any rate, the first plan (should I win) was to sell them on eBay. Sorry to be selfish, but to live rent-free for a year would be quite nice. I mean, I don't think I'm the only one who will profiteer of a charity event, am I?
The whole Live8 situation is very materialistic too, in my opinion. Throwing billions of pounds at a problem doesn't make it go away. It didn't make it go away 20 years ago, and it won't now. The money raised will probably go to rich dictators to further civil wars and fund their lavish lifestyle. But, as long as the money is in Africa, then it's all good for Geldof. Mission accomplished. If Live8 was about raising awareness (as well as funds) that Africa is not a country which has had a bad break, but it's full of corruption, dictatorship, genocide and lack of AIDS awareness; or if Live8 was the celebration of ending third world poverty - not the beginning of an end that may never come - maybe I would support it (don't get me wrong, I was supporting the Make Poverty History campaign for a long time, wearing the band and everything, until recently).
Ahem, I'm going to get flamed.
In any rate, I understand that many people don't share the same view as me, and believe that selling them on eBay would be wrong. As these people are my friends and family, and I don't want to be thought of as a "sick bastard", I've curbed that plan. All today, I've been toying with two ideas (should I win tickets):-
- Go to the concert, as it would be pretty cool. Especially if Michael Jackson is added to the bill.
- Sell them on eBay, and give a portion of the money to a charity I do believe in (who don't get anywhere near enough support as they deserve, because it's not "cool" to), such as Mind, RNLI or The St. David's Hospice.
Either way, I'll piss somebody off. At the end of the day, I have come to one conclusion.
I don't want to win the bloody tickets in the first place.
Time To Blog
Good evening everybody! A lot has been happening in my life recently, what with work and that lot. As such, blogging has been a bit hit and miss recently. I hope with this post I can update you all with what I've been upto:-
Firstly, we've bought a barbecue. To be fair, we bought it a few weeks ago, and I spent a good afternoon putting it up, as these pictures prove so well:-
It was a struggle, but after a few hours of blood, sweat and beers tears. I finished building the barbecue. I felt like such a man!
We finally got around to using the bloody thing a few days ago, with kebabs, burgers, sausages and chicken legs all sizzling away, it was gorgeous. Myself, with my trademark lager, proved that I was having a good time:-
Alas, it was the same lager that has become the death of me, as lager, takeaway, and my stop of all physical activities due to exams has meant that my weight has ballooned. I'm not saying how much, as it's rude to ask. However, thanks to my strict diet of salads, weights, exercise, and slightly less lager, I've lost 4 pounds. Go me!
Yesterday we went to the West Shore, another part of Rhys' "North Wales Photo Tour". It was absolutely gorgeous, and we had a picnic. Only 355 calories in my wrap. Go me!
And that's all I've been upto recently. That and watching Big Brother constantly (for those keeping score, I've warmed to Craig, Saskia and still loving - in a heterosexual way - Maxwell). Sorry my life is boring, I may have to do Ally's meme soon.
Everything Changes But You
As you may or may not be aware, I'm back in sunny Colwyn Bay for most, if not all of the summer. When I started university, I returned home every weekend (largely due to the arseholes on my corridor). I slowly - but surely - migrated away from Colwyn Bay, as I felt more and more at home there. This is the first time back since the two and a bit weeks I spent at easter, making a total of 8 weeks spent in Liverpool, the longest time away from home I've ever spent.
I hopped in a taxi on my return to Colwyn Bay, as I the bus route to my house is sparodic at best, I couldn't help noticing my home town. It's still small, and therefore you notice any changes. There were a lot, shops shutting, shops opening and the like. The biggest shock was Sheldons: a snooker hall in Llandudno. The snooker hall is your stereotypical snooker hall: dark, dingy, serves three lagers, one bitter and one cider. £5 an hour, nice, British, snooker hall. Famous for refusing Jimmy White from playing there*.
Not any more.
Sheldons is now Club 147. Still a snooker hall, but brought into the 21st Century. A new selection of continental lagers are on tap (with fucking TV screens embedded in the pumps), Sky TV, a quiz machine, a £5 Membership fee and table dancers. Yep, table dancers.
We weren't sold to begin with (one of my mates quipped "You can turn my bank into a trendy wine bar, but don't touch my snooker hall!**"), but, even after a dead cert black was missed thanks to the gyrating hips of Llandudno's finest, we began to like it. Nay, love it.
Didn't Sheryl Crow sing "A Change Will Do You Good"?
Anyway, one place I hope never, ever gets changed is along Hafoty Lane. A short, half mile walk away from my house is the most beautiful place on Earth. It's the place where I go when I'm pissed off with the world. I went there earlier today just for a walk, and I took my camera.
It's not the most peaceful place in the world, the gentle rumbling of the A55 expressway and the odd sheep see to that, but I don't care. It's means it's not dead quiet, and I feel truly happy up there.
As my mate would say: You can turn my snooker hall into a trendy wine bar, but don't touch my Hafoty Lane.
* The story goes was that there was a tournament in the Llandudno Theatre. Jimmy White, staying at a hotel in Llandudno, wanted some early morning practice. He knocked onto the door of Sheldons wanting a game, but the guy - who can not be a snooker fan - turned him away, saying they weren't open. Jimmy simply went to the Conservative Club accross the road, who were more than happy to house the legend.
** The bank reference for the unaware (largely American) audience was for a commercial aired in the UK, in which the individuals complained about the new 'initiatives' in rival banks. One bank had been turned into a wine bar.
Taking The Sith
Last night I finally saw
Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith with a mate of mine in Llandudno. Whilst good, there's one thing that niggled me all the way through that kept it from being stunning, but first the good stuff.
This film was quintessentially Star Wars, and felt more classic Star Wars than both The Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones put together. I know those two had to exist to set up this one, but they were boring, as they were both largely a build up to a big battle. Five minutes in, boom, boom, boom. We've got a battle, and a good one at that.
It was emotional too (though, to be fair, I was grinning at the beginning when it said "A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away"), there was one moment, after Anakin becomes Darth Vader, when you just think "He can't do that, can he? That's mean!" (those who've seen it will know what you mean).
The ending was good (I'll talk more about this later). It just tied it up nicely, and - whilst not a happy ending - I felt it tied it up in such a way that wasn't TOO bad.
But there was one huge underlying problem, which is not the film's fault, but what it will always be remembered for (in at least my own mind).
You knew exactly what happenned. You knew who was going to turn evil, who wasn't, who'd live and who'd die. Okay, certain intracacies (such as Darth's suit, and why Yoda and Obi-Wan are separated) are nice to know, but you when Obi-Wan said "She's given birth to twins", you saw that coming. This really knocked the movie down a few notches. It was such a shame, yet necessary. At times I did feel I just wanted Anakin to turn evil, because as soon as he did, it did feel more like a Star Wars film (hard to explain I know).
I suppose in hindsight it would of made the first three better, as it would of been so cool to see the words "Luke, I am your father" the first time around, in the cinema.
Overall, both as part of the sequence of films and individually, it was a great film. Well worth watching (and yes, even you S :P)
The Trouble It's Cre8ed
Couple of days ago, Bob Geldof urged a call to arms, for
one million people to descend on Scotland's capital city of Edinburgh, to protest at the
G8 summit, which will be held there.
I will be one of those million people.
As will my entire family.
Before you look at me thinking "Rhys! You have naturally laid back, life-is-perfect attitude. You didn't strike me as the type who would trash McDonalds in a heartbeat.", and you'd be right. I'm not. It's just that the W5 (which is the collection of the Wynne family, and it sounds cool doing that) will be in Edinburgh, for our yearly family holiday.
Yes, call me shortsighted, but I really don't want my hotel being bricked. Admittedly, the McRae family's hotel is not quite McDonalds in terms of global capitalism stakes, but there's nothing stopping some doped up unemployed hippie from lobbing a brick through the window. I am, no pun inteneded, bricking it.
You never know however, I may get caught up in the mood, like I did a week ago and end up throwing a brick/stone/table/small child through the window of the Nike Store*, climbing up any statue, cover it with graffiti, trip on acid, learn to play the guitar and make out with some hippie named Flora (I'm secretly hoping for the last two). But, if I'm to be honest, I really can't see that happening. The likliest thing to happen is the last one, and that's a long shot at best. Whilst the people of the world will be protesting against "big issues", I'll have my issues. Mainly involving beer, and lots of it.
To be fair, it's only for a few days, but I don't want to spend a day of my 5 day break cooked up in a hotel (which, as far as I know, doesn't have a bar), whilst people with nothing better to do protest all around me.
Don't get me wrong, I'm all for supporting the "Make Poverty History" foundation (I bought a band and all), but I just feel that a million people going to Edinburgh could be detrimental to the cause.
Bloody students, I h8 them.
* Which there may not be one in Edinburgh. I don't know.
A Summer Love Affair All Over Again
Every year I say the same thing "I'm not getting addicted to
Big Brother, no, not again.". This year, I've set a record.
I've become addicted after only 3 days.
I don't know why, I really, really don't. I'm 21, I'm intelligent, I'm everything that would make me the perfect candidate to not watch Big Brother. I mean, two of the women, have gone on to my very short list of women with big breasts that I don't fancy.
**shudder**
The Liverpool University student is a mouthy wierdo. One of them's a complete arrogent cock, one of them is a Tory, another one annoyingly speaks about herself in the third person (a feat only achieved successfully by The Rock), another is a lying doolally individual, another is one who grins with the kind of sultry unfounded arrogence we've come to expect from the Italians, another is just an insecure dirty bitch, one I cannot understand, and two have no basis for comment because, quite simply, they have no commentable characteristics whatsoever.
In fact, the only one who I actually want to win is a dirty Arsenal fan!
In short, the housemates have the grand total of 4 redeeming features between them.
And, the best thing is? It's complusive, brilliant viewing, and I love it.
