Todays title pertains to the current time of year - a period which, although is technically within the twelve days of christmas, is regarded by pretty much everyone as the aftermath of the festive season.
The Lovell household is no exception to this annual tradition and here, like in many other houses, lunch consists of whatever is left of the yuletide feastings (sometimes even for the kitten, who has recently discovered his own love for real ham), and water is pretty much entirely substituted for by soft drinks of various unearthly hues.
Of course another aspect of this post Christmas period is the analyising and comparing of gifts. I always struggle to see Christmas in its religious light, because for me the birth of Jesus isn't as great as the whole death / ressurection side of things. Obviously it's still a great thing to remember the whole 'word became flesh' type stuff, and Christmas covers the aspect of God humbling himself and becoming man more than Easter, but no amount of theology is really going to entirely remove the appeal of a celebration which involves getting free things over the course of a few days, often from people you haven't see since last year's festivities. The question, therefore, which lingers on the lips of all you readers cannot help but be 'What did David Lovell get for Christmas?' See, I hear tell of all these kids of facebook who did or didn't get Ipods/pads, blackberries or laptops, and to me the whole concept is a bit bizarre and shallow, becuase it becomes more about the actual value and status of what you're getting than the love of the person who gave it. Forgive me for such soppiness and moral one-up-manship, but this year most of my greatests gifts were of minimal commercial value, like the kazoo from Father Christmas, which probably cost a couple of quid but brings such joy to me when I play it. (Not neccesarily those around me, though.) Then theres the pack of 36 nerf darts I also got in my stocking, another childish delight that enables me to run around the house pumping friends family and occasinally the odd pet with 50 calibre rounds of orange squidgy goodness. I do have one memory I'm not hugely proud of, which involved my father, a plastic bag, my kitten and a few of said darts travelling at concerning velocity into the plastic bag, which some claim there is the off chance my father may have been holding up, and then the miniscule probability that my kitten may have been helplessly writhing in said bag. Still, it was a good present.
I'm becoming aware that this post is quite long, but there's not a lot I can do about that. I shall now proceed to recount the loose pattern of my Christmas celebratory good times.
Christmas day was good, we opened our stockings, got some cool things and set off to the Christmas service, after which we went home and had Grandma and Grandad main round for dinner, along with our longstanding friend of family auntie Gladys.
Unnoficial boxing day was spent at my cousin's house, which was a sweet good time involving me and Andy Lovell eating turkey and the like while everyone else had salmon and goo, then making great cousinly jokes, getting really tired (to the extent that I tried to put my cereal under the tap instead of putting milk on it) then getting more tired, youtubing some Trip K and the like, and going home and having some sleeps.
Official boxing day was also great, we went to the house of aforementioned grandparents and hung out with my mum's side of the family, which was alright.
I'm gonna be frank, there was about 20 minutes between this line and the one above it. I'm getting quite distracted by the old youtube, and reflecting on the irony of the post's title becuase I actually have loads of maths revision to do. Tara.
Friday, 31 December 2010
Monday, 20 December 2010
Direction
I'm diggin the vague title of this post. It seems meaninful, but isn't really at all. It's vaguely related to that I was thinking 'where is this blog going', but then I decided it was just some kind of beautiful nowhere. (Apologies for pretty cringey metaphor) (Does anyone else find the word 'cringey' cringey? - I tend to associate with those magazines for girls which have that 'Cringe Page', where all these 13 year olds are like 'I went shopping.... WITH MY MOM!!!!! MEGACRINGE!!!')
I do not go shopping with my mum, the mum does my shopping for me. I am aware that this is even loss cool than the aforementioned method of obtaining clothes, but it works for me. Here's the deal: My mother is like 'here, take monies, and do budgeting for obtain life skill', so I'm like 'I shall take this wonga stash', then I don't actually do budgeting, I can't be bothered to buy clothes when I look so beautiful anyway, and my mum buys me some generic (but lovely) jeans out of genuine pity. (And also some shoes which are by 'FUBU', and take about a minute to get on each, but are shamefully cooler than my other wearing trainers.
Hey according to the internet (Urban dictionary and this weird European site, FUBU is a once really cool clothes brand, which is bigger in America, but also surrounded by racial tension because it's make by black people, and black people wear it, which has lead to loads of unfiltered racist acronyms for the word 'FUBU' across the internet.
STOP, I WAS JUST ON DAVID GLOVER'S WALL ON FACEBOOK, AND EVERYONE HAS TO SEE THIS ALL-CAPS WORTHY THING RIGHT HERE!
Actually, a lot of this guy's vidoes are pretty great, but they mostly involve toughness-crushing fluffy animals doing cute stuff.
*** Interuption Over ***
Anyways, speaking of how uncool I am (seems to form a substantial amount of this blog), I was upgraded to advbuilder on the ol' Minecraft Classic the other day, which is about the most e-authority I've ever had in my life, and I've also legalised my copy of Minecraft before the Beta. Hooray for Notch!
Speaking of David Glover (which I was also doing), we accidentally invented a great game on Friday evening. Here's what you need to play:
- Giant connect four.
- A crazy friend.
-To be crazy
- Two lame girls.
Basically, the game consists of putting the connect four pieces into the connect four as fast as you can, saying things like 'hurry!' or 'there's no time to lose!', but with the little slide on the bottom pulled out so that the pieces all fall right through. Then, the girls (who are too lame to undestand) want to make something vaguely sensible of the game, so toggle the slides. This only adds to the chaos and fun, becuase you proceed to pull the toggles back, sending all the rings crashing down, ready to be put back into the giant connect four to a chorus of 'Quickly!' and the like, whilst laughing hysterically as if under the influence of drugs.
This is why drugs / alcohol always confused me - I don't find it dificult to do any of the things people do when they're 'under the influence', as it were, and perhaps even have more of a good time due to be aware as to how thoroughly ridiculous I am being, but then not doing anything lame like throwing up in a gutter, getting pregnant or dying. It is my naive point of view that actually, drugs and booze and that are just some kind of excuse to do all the crazy things you want to do, but just dont want to do whilst being fully in control of yourself, so that people won't say 'oh yeah, you danced all crazy!' or 'That connect four madness was ridiculous!', but rather just 'whoa, we got totally [Insert pretty much anything here]-ed last night!'
Society rant over. Anyways, I like the game becuase it is fun, yet entirely without purpose, just like:
- This blog
- Minecraft
- My joinin of BinWeevils, solely to say intellectual things to a sea of nine year olds, whilst they all beg each other for virtual friendship and get upset about loosing games or 'mulch'.
(Maybe that last one wasn't cool, and more discening people would have left it unsaid, but then those people wouldn't be doing it.) (By way of a partial excuse, I saw it when a computer blocked me from viewing my Sister's Blog, and suggested a list full of child-friendly websites. Interesting, also, that my blog is understood by the computer as clean, where as Ruth's has content which may be innapropriate for children.
Oh yeah, my sister is home, which is great. Other than this, sorry for the lack of updates of late, I like to keep things inconsistent so you don't get bored.
I do not go shopping with my mum, the mum does my shopping for me. I am aware that this is even loss cool than the aforementioned method of obtaining clothes, but it works for me. Here's the deal: My mother is like 'here, take monies, and do budgeting for obtain life skill', so I'm like 'I shall take this wonga stash', then I don't actually do budgeting, I can't be bothered to buy clothes when I look so beautiful anyway, and my mum buys me some generic (but lovely) jeans out of genuine pity. (And also some shoes which are by 'FUBU', and take about a minute to get on each, but are shamefully cooler than my other wearing trainers.
Hey according to the internet (Urban dictionary and this weird European site, FUBU is a once really cool clothes brand, which is bigger in America, but also surrounded by racial tension because it's make by black people, and black people wear it, which has lead to loads of unfiltered racist acronyms for the word 'FUBU' across the internet.
STOP, I WAS JUST ON DAVID GLOVER'S WALL ON FACEBOOK, AND EVERYONE HAS TO SEE THIS ALL-CAPS WORTHY THING RIGHT HERE!
Actually, a lot of this guy's vidoes are pretty great, but they mostly involve toughness-crushing fluffy animals doing cute stuff.
*** Interuption Over ***
Anyways, speaking of how uncool I am (seems to form a substantial amount of this blog), I was upgraded to advbuilder on the ol' Minecraft Classic the other day, which is about the most e-authority I've ever had in my life, and I've also legalised my copy of Minecraft before the Beta. Hooray for Notch!
Speaking of David Glover (which I was also doing), we accidentally invented a great game on Friday evening. Here's what you need to play:
- Giant connect four.
- A crazy friend.
-To be crazy
- Two lame girls.
Basically, the game consists of putting the connect four pieces into the connect four as fast as you can, saying things like 'hurry!' or 'there's no time to lose!', but with the little slide on the bottom pulled out so that the pieces all fall right through. Then, the girls (who are too lame to undestand) want to make something vaguely sensible of the game, so toggle the slides. This only adds to the chaos and fun, becuase you proceed to pull the toggles back, sending all the rings crashing down, ready to be put back into the giant connect four to a chorus of 'Quickly!' and the like, whilst laughing hysterically as if under the influence of drugs.
This is why drugs / alcohol always confused me - I don't find it dificult to do any of the things people do when they're 'under the influence', as it were, and perhaps even have more of a good time due to be aware as to how thoroughly ridiculous I am being, but then not doing anything lame like throwing up in a gutter, getting pregnant or dying. It is my naive point of view that actually, drugs and booze and that are just some kind of excuse to do all the crazy things you want to do, but just dont want to do whilst being fully in control of yourself, so that people won't say 'oh yeah, you danced all crazy!' or 'That connect four madness was ridiculous!', but rather just 'whoa, we got totally [Insert pretty much anything here]-ed last night!'
Society rant over. Anyways, I like the game becuase it is fun, yet entirely without purpose, just like:
- This blog
- Minecraft
- My joinin of BinWeevils, solely to say intellectual things to a sea of nine year olds, whilst they all beg each other for virtual friendship and get upset about loosing games or 'mulch'.
(Maybe that last one wasn't cool, and more discening people would have left it unsaid, but then those people wouldn't be doing it.) (By way of a partial excuse, I saw it when a computer blocked me from viewing my Sister's Blog, and suggested a list full of child-friendly websites. Interesting, also, that my blog is understood by the computer as clean, where as Ruth's has content which may be innapropriate for children.
Oh yeah, my sister is home, which is great. Other than this, sorry for the lack of updates of late, I like to keep things inconsistent so you don't get bored.
Thursday, 9 December 2010
Tuesday, 7 December 2010
P.S
(it's a P.S, not a post. See above if you haven't already.)
You may notice the ridiculously long Minecraft poll there. It started out as harmless fun, but ended into a trip to the M.C wiki to view all the blocks in existence on survival mode, then take out all the ones I didn't think counted. I have made the executive decision not the talk very much about Minecraft on my blog, because I believe some people who actually hold me in some vague position of respect (in the loosest possible sense) have been known to view it. You know, girls and the like. They don't really dig that kind of thing, being the somewhat lame creatures they are.
P.P.S
Sorry for the misodginy, it's just the Raymond Chandler speaking.
You may notice the ridiculously long Minecraft poll there. It started out as harmless fun, but ended into a trip to the M.C wiki to view all the blocks in existence on survival mode, then take out all the ones I didn't think counted. I have made the executive decision not the talk very much about Minecraft on my blog, because I believe some people who actually hold me in some vague position of respect (in the loosest possible sense) have been known to view it. You know, girls and the like. They don't really dig that kind of thing, being the somewhat lame creatures they are.
P.P.S
Sorry for the misodginy, it's just the Raymond Chandler speaking.
Some kind of a scandal?
[Some kind of a title?]
Well, last month was our all time bestest ever month here at daveisgreatallthetime.blogspot.com, we averaged 7.76666667 views per day. This month, we are so far averaging exactly one per day. Needless to say, this is entirely my fault, as it has been over a week since the last post, partially because I wanted to give you some time to digest the richness of that last November's end treat, partially becuase I did do something vaguely like a post which didn't work because of the school computers, and partially because I'm not that great. Still, let us forgive and forget, move out of this wilderness of dry pages, and onwards to the wealth of David Lovell-type goodness we have in store for this most festive of months.
First this month is the best and worst story of it so far. It all began when Miss Davis, being the imaginative woman she is, set us a LitLang task which involved writing a lonely hearts column for Dupin. For those of you just joining us, Dupin is solitary, not lonely, and even Poe would struggle to write a lonely hearts column five to eight hundred words long in which he tore up all that he had previously embroided of this magnificent persona. It was practically sacrilege in the field of literature, so David Glover and I did not hesitate to share with each other just how disgusted we were by this bizarre concept.
One thing, however, led to another (as it tends to do when Mr. Glover's mind and my own collaborate in any manner), and before long we were both just slating Miss Davis. There was criticism gushing from pore of our bodies, some of which I thought was almost constructive and quite reasonable, but for the most part, unfortunately, was just pure slander, along the lines of 'she doesn't know her subject!' and quite possibly 'She is literally retarded.
After a few minutes of this, Mr. Glover turned to me and said 'Hey wait a minute - she could be on this bus.' The words echoed in my head for a second. They clanged sonourously against the sides of my skull, chiming with the sombre inevitability of death itself. When this occurred, several things which had slowly sunk to the lower regions of my memory resurfaced simultaneously as whisps of wordplay, slander and imagination shrunk back to reveal them in all there sobering clarity. These things were as follows:
The first was the sudden realisation of just how loudly me and my colleague had been unashamedly slandering our teacher, and how much excitement had gotten the better of us.
The second was that our seats, located just behind the top of the staircase, were probably the most audible seats on the upper deck to anyone who happened to be sitting on the chairs closest to the bottom of the stairwell.
The third was that it was this very seat that Miss Davis, without fail, would claim for herself if she was ever upon the bus, and that indeed (this is perhaps truly a fourth thing, for it feels like an expereince in itself) it was this very seat that I had seen the said personage to be sat upon in the event of my boarding the vechile.
I looked at David Glover. His innocent eyes were filled with doubt. 'She is', I said.
Sorry, I kind of slipped into a bit of Poe there, it was legitametly an accident. Anyways, we were deeply screwed. Obviously she didn't mention it, but she critisised our performance in every aspect, hyperbolising the minutest short coming on our part, whilst seeing it as entirely acceptable that half the class needed to have every last sentence of 'The Purloigned Letter' translated and spoon fed to them, either due to complete apathy, or just an unfortunate understanding of archaic english. Still, we had said some nasty and unnecesary things, and you have no idea how good we made our homework that week, nor just how unbelievably far apart we managed to sit within the crammped walls of our classroom. Still, we deserve everything we get really. Miss Davis is a very good teacher, as are all teachers at Davenant, and it was incredibly rich of us to critisise her choice of homework task, when we hadn't actually done the homework, whereas she has studied the subject for a number of years. (If you believe that to be some kind of disclaimer for the unlikely event of this getting into the schools hands, you may be partially right, but I don't really feel great about accidentally saying all those things to my teachers face.)
Gee, I got a bit poetic really. That's a lot of words. To coclude / move in that general direction, my house is full of builders, who are all tearing things apart becuase my dad is not motivated or specialised enough to tear things apart as well as they can. And my kitten has been really, really cuddly lately.
Se ya round, hermaphrodites.
Well, last month was our all time bestest ever month here at daveisgreatallthetime.blogspot.com, we averaged 7.76666667 views per day. This month, we are so far averaging exactly one per day. Needless to say, this is entirely my fault, as it has been over a week since the last post, partially because I wanted to give you some time to digest the richness of that last November's end treat, partially becuase I did do something vaguely like a post which didn't work because of the school computers, and partially because I'm not that great. Still, let us forgive and forget, move out of this wilderness of dry pages, and onwards to the wealth of David Lovell-type goodness we have in store for this most festive of months.
First this month is the best and worst story of it so far. It all began when Miss Davis, being the imaginative woman she is, set us a LitLang task which involved writing a lonely hearts column for Dupin. For those of you just joining us, Dupin is solitary, not lonely, and even Poe would struggle to write a lonely hearts column five to eight hundred words long in which he tore up all that he had previously embroided of this magnificent persona. It was practically sacrilege in the field of literature, so David Glover and I did not hesitate to share with each other just how disgusted we were by this bizarre concept.
One thing, however, led to another (as it tends to do when Mr. Glover's mind and my own collaborate in any manner), and before long we were both just slating Miss Davis. There was criticism gushing from pore of our bodies, some of which I thought was almost constructive and quite reasonable, but for the most part, unfortunately, was just pure slander, along the lines of 'she doesn't know her subject!' and quite possibly 'She is literally retarded.
After a few minutes of this, Mr. Glover turned to me and said 'Hey wait a minute - she could be on this bus.' The words echoed in my head for a second. They clanged sonourously against the sides of my skull, chiming with the sombre inevitability of death itself. When this occurred, several things which had slowly sunk to the lower regions of my memory resurfaced simultaneously as whisps of wordplay, slander and imagination shrunk back to reveal them in all there sobering clarity. These things were as follows:
The first was the sudden realisation of just how loudly me and my colleague had been unashamedly slandering our teacher, and how much excitement had gotten the better of us.
The second was that our seats, located just behind the top of the staircase, were probably the most audible seats on the upper deck to anyone who happened to be sitting on the chairs closest to the bottom of the stairwell.
The third was that it was this very seat that Miss Davis, without fail, would claim for herself if she was ever upon the bus, and that indeed (this is perhaps truly a fourth thing, for it feels like an expereince in itself) it was this very seat that I had seen the said personage to be sat upon in the event of my boarding the vechile.
I looked at David Glover. His innocent eyes were filled with doubt. 'She is', I said.
Sorry, I kind of slipped into a bit of Poe there, it was legitametly an accident. Anyways, we were deeply screwed. Obviously she didn't mention it, but she critisised our performance in every aspect, hyperbolising the minutest short coming on our part, whilst seeing it as entirely acceptable that half the class needed to have every last sentence of 'The Purloigned Letter' translated and spoon fed to them, either due to complete apathy, or just an unfortunate understanding of archaic english. Still, we had said some nasty and unnecesary things, and you have no idea how good we made our homework that week, nor just how unbelievably far apart we managed to sit within the crammped walls of our classroom. Still, we deserve everything we get really. Miss Davis is a very good teacher, as are all teachers at Davenant, and it was incredibly rich of us to critisise her choice of homework task, when we hadn't actually done the homework, whereas she has studied the subject for a number of years. (If you believe that to be some kind of disclaimer for the unlikely event of this getting into the schools hands, you may be partially right, but I don't really feel great about accidentally saying all those things to my teachers face.)
Gee, I got a bit poetic really. That's a lot of words. To coclude / move in that general direction, my house is full of builders, who are all tearing things apart becuase my dad is not motivated or specialised enough to tear things apart as well as they can. And my kitten has been really, really cuddly lately.
Se ya round, hermaphrodites.