Royal Wedding Rant.

I have the same attitude towards the royal wedding as I do Christmas.

I don't wish to be mean-spirited; in fact, I wish all the best for the couple. I would never go so far as to hope the marriage doesn't last (as one of my friends grumbled, to my dismay) - no, in fact, I want Wills and Kate to be eternally happy together, to have several beautiful children (of whom none hopefully will marry in my lifetime; one wedding's enough for me, thank you) in whatever the equivalent of a white-picket fence house with water-sprinklers is for the royal family.

The essential sentiment of the thing is something I have no problem with. After all, a wedding is nothing but occasion to be happy about. In this age of budget cuts, political turmoil, war, and natural disasters, the least one can do is to know at least one (very, very prestigious) couple are happily tying the knot, looking forward to spending the rest of their lives together.

Actually, I was rather apathetic towards the wedding in the last weeks preceding it. 'Good for them', I thought. It has only been these last few days that the fatigue has really started to settle in.

Everywhere I walked in London, newspapers screamed 'KATE WON'T OBEY WILLS'; 'WHO DESIGNED THE WEDDING DRESS?'; 'BEER WON'T BE SERVED AT THE WEDDING'; and other equally speculative titles. Union Jack flags seemed to follow me at my every single turn. I couldn't walk past a memorabilia shop (or almost any shop, for that matter) without being greeted by rows and rows of tacky royal wedding merchandise. Teapots, teacups, teabags, cutlery, handkerchiefs...one shop even sold royal wedding cereal (guaranteed to help you lose weight before your own big day). Before you could wonder, 'what next'?, there it was.

That's why I still haven't seen what the royal wedding dress looks like. I'm choosing to do a quiet little boycott, and instead try and get some work done. The most I've seen of the wedding as of now were a few glimpses I managed to catch in my half-asleep daze, when my uncle turned on the TV to tune into the live coverage. I'm sure in the next few days, even weeks, there'll be more than enough talk about it in London. Hopefully, in time, the buzz will peter out, and I'll be able to walk around London free from being bombarded with matrimonial news. I can just imagine the headline months from now: 'WILLS AND KATE ADOPT DOG; ADORABLE'. Shudder.

But this misses the point of my post. What my problem is with, rather than the couple, or even wedding itself, is the reception by the people. I find it utterly bizarre that people could be so emotionally invested in something so essentially removed from them. You have no more input or relevance to the wedding than the next person, and celebrating it won't make you any more important to the royal family. People who have camped out at Westminster Abbey since Tuesday, who have flown in and are staying at hotels with jacked-up prices just for this period, just to watch...all I can say is, I simply don't understand.

I hate that people have exploited what I would consider to be such an emotional event. Like Christmas, the essential sentiment of the occasion has been lost, buried underneath all the mounds and mounds of cheap materialism, knock-off memorabilia, idle gossip, and inconsequential speculation. To me, it speaks of nothing but the fickle, cunning, almost depressingly sly nature of people. Can't we just let the royal wedding be enough in itself? I wonder how Wills and Kate themselves feel about all the attention.

Oh, I don't know. Perhaps I am just too jaded. I certainly feel very much like a Scrooge, out to ruin the spirit of the matter. Prapim, stop being such a party-pooper! Prapim, why so cynical? After all, it's just a time for fun, isn't it? An excuse to go out and experience something wonderful, historic, magical.

Besides, it's not like I haven't celebrated or looked forward to more trivial matters with even more excitement myself. In fact, tomorrow morning, I'll be queueing for about three hours just for a chance to buy some tickets for the last performance of Frankenstein at the National Theatre.

The difference is, I might get to see Benedict Cumberbatch.

Hey. Maybe I do understand after all.

The Improbable Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

Actually, this is kind of starting to turn into a review-blog.

This is mainly because I always have strong opinions about stuff I see, listen to, read, etc. but because nobody as far as I know personally usually has the same interests as me, and even if they did would not want to listen to an in-depth rant, in my head they stay, to brew and cook until over-ripe.

Today's book:


The Improbable Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

Anyone who knows me (even not very well) will know I am a screaming Sherlock Holmes fangirl. Having exhausted all the canon stories - by this, I mean re-reading them, some three to four times - I was itching for something to read. Having been recommended this book by an internet user on...FandomSecrets...the book's blurb boasted mystery, horror, and Sherlock Holmes. What more could I ask for?

My opinion is that a few of these stories are truly excellent. I find most of them start out with intriguing premises that fail to live up to their potential, or were simply above-average, but not excellent. Whether this was because the solution wasn't developed or explained well enough, the climax was, well, anticlimactic, or the characters (even when placed in absurd situations) were too out of character, I found myself wishing I could have changed some parts of the story.

Even tiny details I found inaccurate were enough to annoy me. For example, The Adventure of the Field Theorems has Sir Arthur Conan Doyle calling Watson and everyone else by their first name. Now, if Holmes and Watson, intimate friends, are only on a last-name basis, why would Sir Arthur, a casual acquaintance of Watson's, be on a first-name basis? Perhaps the writer was simply American, and did not notice. Even so, it speaks to me of poor research.

In one case, a story was excellent until literally the very end, when Sherlock Holmes utters something so uncharacteristic of him that the rest of the story was ruined for me. Murder to Music had a brilliant solution - with the last notes played on the piano by the dying man a message as to how to thwart the next assassination attempt - but once the identity of the murderer is revealed, Sherlock Holmes does nothing to apprehend him. Now, this wasn't the problem; in many stories, Holmes has let many a murderer or criminal go free before.

However, Holmes says in this case he will not, because to capture the murderer would be an even bigger crime; that is, to music. He then goes on to say that if he had found Watson murdered by this very person, he would not hesitate to dump Watson's body somewhere, never revealing the murderer.

To think that Holmes would be so self-serving, so cold-hearted, is appalling. Holmes, on further readings really has a big heart, and much affection for Watson. In The Dying Detective, he apprehends a doctor even at the expense of a possible antidote to a life-threatening disease being developed, because of all the lives the doctor has killed in the process. To think, of all people, Watson would be one he would be willing to be murdered, is just plain wrong.

This isn't to say they are terrible or bland; in fact, most of these stories are hugely entertaining. I highly recommend this book to any Sherlock Holmes fan with an open mind and the will to suspend your disbelief into strange realms.

Notable stories for me were:

The Horror of Many Faces by Tim Lebbon: I still don't fully understand this story, and I guess I probably won't truly ever. Nevertheless, this story is the one that captured my attention the most, its memory lingering strongly in my mind after having read it. It is one of the few stories that manages to build up such a powerfully evocative, terrifying atmosphere; I could practically see the London fog looming over Baker Street, a terrified Watson trembling in the dark as he grips his weapon, a scream echoing in the distance.

The Adventure of the Dorset Street Lodger by Michael Moorcock: I suppose what I like about this story is it would fit perfectly into the canon. A singularly interesting mystery, well played-out, and with a rather unexpected twist. I also like the little touch in the beginning of Holmes and Watson's domestic troubles finding alternative lodgings, and the leisure-time they enjoy in their new temporary lodgings; it really was quite endearing!

Commonplaces by Naomi Novik: Okay, I'll admit, I'm biased towards this story because it really is pretty much a slash fanfiction. I was surprised myself to find such a story in a mainstream, published book, to be read by non-slashers. Huh. But regardless, beautifully bittersweet, regaling us with Holmes' decision to leave Watson at the Reichenbach Falls. Irene Adler is written very well - a beautiful, strong, clever woman - developing onto Conan Doyle's characterization. I think even non-slashers will find this story enjoyable.

WHAAAAAT.

WHAAAAAAT.

You know, as much as I love myself some fanservice, naked man-thigh doesn't quite have the same appeal as naked woman-thigh. Such is the difference between beefcake and cheesecake.

Especially when it looks likes they've all just finished taking a whizz. Because, you know, nothing's sexier than having just tucked the thing back in from the business.

Granted, this was a Rolling Stone shoot, so they were probably going for some post-modern, ironic thing here in the hopes of establishing themselves as a serious, legitimate band. As serious and legitimate as an image like that can be, anyway.

But I'm pretty sure the question on everyone's minds is: why is Nick's coat so much longer than everyone else's? So much for being the least sexually threatening member...

Backstreet Boys VS. *NSync.

First trivial post. This has been on my mind for a while now.

Backstreet Boys VS. *NSync.

Of course, this is an utterly redundant debate. You may snigger now at the seriousness of which I approach this topic.

Lately, I have been on a binge of nostalgia, and wish to compare. It is no doubt my desperate attempts to hold onto the last tendrils of my youth before they dissipate, and I will hold on tightly as I am able.

There will be no doubt that I will be biased. Me, I have always been one for the Backstreet Boys. But I will be perfectly civil.

Personally, I have never liked *NSync very much - except for that one song, Pop - and a tiny little crush on Lance Bass (hey, come on, at ten your gaydar isn't really well-honed just yet, you know) - nor really wholly understood their appeal, but I can objectively tell you how they are better or worse than BSB.

So, in the off-chance some die-hard *NSync fan has found this and taken offense, please do not. I am merely listing my extremely personal reasons as to why I prefer BSB.

1. Dance Moves

Okay. This one's pretty much a no-brainer. *NSync are the superior boy-band when it comes to the dance department.

Whilst the Backstreet Boys' dancing chops are adequate enough (you know, especially compared to the utter blandness that is Westlife), *NSync blow them out of the water.

*NSync are slick, professional, they have an energy and cohesion to their dancing that BSB lacks. They're very well-choreographed, their timing's spot-on, as a team their synchronization is pretty much perfect. Even individually, each member still shines.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O6XE1XRiLeY (Embedding disabled)

Watching BSB dance kind of just looks like a bunch of guys vaguely walking in circles, pouting and waving their arms about melodramatically; almost as if they learnt the dance moves about half an hour in advance to the shooting. Although, in this case, I'll forgive Kevin; that half-lidded arm-flapping seems to suit him. Just skip to 4:19; a YouTube commenter notices Brian merely sitting, looking around, seemingly bemused, having apparently forgotten the moves.

Point to: *NSync.

Justification:

Personally, though, I don't really care about how proficient they are at dancing. Sure, it would be nice to be able to pull of some good moves, but I find that if one takes that aspect too far (e.g. most Korean boy-bands...seriously, YouTube some) then it diminishes the importance of the talent and personality of the band itself. You shouldn't necessarily need to appeal by having flashy moves if the personality of the band itself is enough. And for me, BSB has always had more personality than *NSync. (More on that last sentence later.)

---

Discussion to be continued later with more points. Yes, I am taking this very seriously. It's important to me.

Purpose. It's that little flame, that lights a fire, under your ass.

I've realized there is, after all, a purpose to this blog.

No, don't roll your eyes just yet. When I talk about purpose in this context, it is not the 'what is the purpose of life' variety, but rather the 'the purpose of toilet paper is wiping bums' sort.

It is for posts too trivial, too shallow, too inconsequential to go into my personal journal. (Musings on life and its intricacies, as well as my PMS-induced ranting go there. Perhaps you'd like to see it one day.)

It is for posts too embarrassing, too awkward, too wordy to go into my Facebook notes. I used to write a lot of notes there many few years ago, but have since realized that a lot of them are basically about things no one gives a shit about. It makes me blush to think I used to write all those things, baring my little teeny tiny soul to the mass that is my friends list, then tag people in them. Gosh.

It is for posts that document what I am thinking at the time, little anecdotes, lists, and random thoughts that I would no doubt find amusing later (forgive my poor little mind and its lack of taste) and would wish to re-read and chuckle about.

In most cases, I would write these things down in my note-book, but I find I am hopeless at dating things, and even worse, writing them in order. That is where this journal comes in.

This journal has a purpose.

It is to entertain its audience of one, its creator.

Onward, ho!

First Post. Epic Grandiloquency Ensues. Or not.

Although the likelihood of anyone stumbling onto this is utterly close to nil, I, in one of those strange fancies that takes me just before I go to sleep, am seized by the sudden desire to create another blog.

Why, I ask myself?

It is partly because I wish to put my rants onto the Internet, in the vague hope that someone out there will read - perhaps even sympathize or relate, or even be entertained by. It's basically the equivalent of a 16-year-old posting about how BAWDIFFICULT and ANGSTY their life is on MySpace. No one will give a shit, but there is at least some feeling of carthasis.

Well, okay. Cut the flowery language. Basically, I want to rant, but don't want to rant on my art blog. So this will be my rant blog. Also, my art tutor did say I had a bit of the skill for, how you say, the writing, and I wish to indulge. Otherwise I may go rusty.

In all likelihood, I'll probably even forget I made this blog in the first place, only to suddenly remember and revisit it a few months later, read this super-uncool post, and hang my head in everlasting shame.

You'll find out.