Don't be a notefold cock

... and if you're confused as to what this is all about, you should probably be watching Dave Gorman's Modern Life Is Goodish already. It's on Dave, appropriately enough.

Super-fly TNT

So, the cinema screening of Pulp Fiction I wanted to stage in lieu of a birthday party happened ... and it was good. Thanks to all those that came, and made the evening what it was. Thanks also to all those that helped to publicise the event, without whom my attempt at crowdsourcing cinema would have crashed and burned.

What have I learned from this undertaking? That it's hard, primarily. Mostly because my circle of friends are widely spread geographically, and the number of them that could make it to my cinema of choice on a Monday night was pretty small. I was only able to get enough pledges by opening the screening up to the general public, and then getting local papers, "what's on"-style Twitter feeds and friends of friends to bang the drum. In the end, although the cinema was more than half full, I only knew eleven other attendees.

What I've also learned is that, for a film of Pulp Fiction's quality, the effort was well worth it. So much so that maybe, just maybe, I might pick another film and try to stage a screening for next year's birthday too, who knows.

Pulp Fiction is littered with astounding dialogue. This tiny scene illustrates it perfectly. I'm super-fly TNT. Amazing to think that although the screenplay won an Oscar, neither of these actors did: John Travolta was nominated for Best Actor but trumped by Tom Hanks as Gump, whilst Samuel L. Jackson was nominated for Best Supporting Actor but beaten by Martin Landau for his turn as Bela Lugosi in Ed Wood. Martin Landau! Him out of Space 1999! Blimey ...

Anyway, here's that tiny scene with cracking, crackling dialogue. Enjoy, then go home and root out your Pulp Fiction DVD.

Now I am a was

+1 kudos point for identifying the source of this post's title.

This blog continues to decline

It occurs to me that I haven't blogged anything on here for the best part of three weeks. That's partly because I've been away on holiday, and partly because what little Internet time I have had has been used up with carpet-bombing various social media (apologies, friends and followers) in a successful attempt to crowd-source a cinema screening of Pulp Fiction (more about that here). I need to be truthful though, and acknowledge the fact that the muse just hasn't struck me - I have precious little to write about, as evidenced by last month's slightly desperate "slutspurt" post.

Anyway... I was going to write about how, more than 26 years after I last did one, I've just signed myself up to do an A-level. I know, mad, right? But I've long felt that I made the wrong subject choices for the sixth form, and though nothing can correct that (or the resultant, somewhat disappointing grades) I have to scratch this itch. And since I can't afford to do a diploma course or, more expensive still, a third degree, A-level English Literature will have to do. Wish me luck.

But I didn't write about that, because no-one outside of my house is interested. Instead, I thought I might blog about Winnie Cooper from The Wonder Years, because I used to have a bit of a minor crush on her way back when, and had stumbled upon a picture of her all grown up. But you probably didn't have a minor crush on Danica McKellar, so the post (which I got as far as drafting) just looked like a weak excuse for a picture of a pretty woman who'd forgotten some clothes. SFW, but still pretty weak, as blog posts go.

Instead, I've given up trying to think of something post-worthy, and will just share this with you, on the basis that I'm a bit of a Kubrick nut - some of you might be too, and those that aren't might start to be. Enjoy.