sophieisgod: ([film] i happen to like this bad set)
I totally watched Chasing Liberty today, and it is all the fault of [ profile] dollsome and her burgeoning Matthew Goode obsession. Man alive. CHISELED, is the word I shall use to describe him. That and pants-meltingly-attractive.

I'm going to Ireland tomorrow! It's my auntie's 50th so we shall all be getting merry, and I'll get to see some of the cousins I haven't seen in person since the summer that S6 of Buffy came out on VHS (good times).

So, while I'm gone, do this for me:

"Every single person has at least one secret that would break your heart. If we could just remember this, I think there would be a lot more compassion and tolerance in the world."

Post anything that you want here, and post it anonymously. A story, a secret, a confession, a fear, a love, your parents, boyfriend, anything. Just make it honest. Make sure to post anonymously and honestly. Post as many times as you'd like. Then, put this in your LJ to see what others have to say.

EDIT: Whoops! Anonymous commenting should actually be enabled now, which would help.
sophieisgod: (Default)
I fucking love my course sometimes. Gimpy Brian may well be a gimp, but all is forgiven because I just saw Amazing Grace. Well, I say 'just saw', I've been home for four hours but Juanita only *just* got off MSN. Also, apologies if this post is slightly wanky and doesn't really make sense, but it's basically my notes for discussion in our seminars. If I was in York, I'd be writing this on post-its, but I foolishly left them there because I thought I wouldn't need them... Like my Peep Show DVDs and my hairdryer.

Righteous anger is HOT beyond all belief )

Whoops, sorry, ranty rant rant. Awesome film.

Also, yesterday I went to Manchester to see my Wifey Louise [ profile] templa_otmena and I saw 300 at the IMAX. Lord. And Sunshine tomorrow! And Will Arnett is in Blades Of Glory!

Ooh, and the Last King Of Scotland soundtrack is immense. When we were dricing to Preston to the pictures (all that, and it's coming to Sowwie next week anyway. Grrrr.) I had it on my iPod and it was sunny and it reminded me of that early sequence where he's on the bus looking at all the scenery. I mean, Lancashire is hardly Uganda, but it was nice.
sophieisgod: (Eowyn)
For the title to have maximum impact, you really have to shout it in a Mel Gibson kinda way. Totally implausible when the man's just had his innards ripped out, but then historical accuracy is hardly Braveheart's main concern... Stirling BRIDGE, man. The Battle of Stirling BRIDGE.

Anyway, I've been AWOL the past few days, mainly because of The Essay From Hell. It was a bit of a slog, mainly because I knew I wanted to write about sight in Whitman, and I had points to make, but I didn't have an argument as such. And it was due in at 10.45 in the morning. And I hadn't finished Portrait Of A Lady. Thankfully, at around 3.30 in the morning (yes, another all-nighter) I hit upon The Insanely Creepy Eyeball Metaphor Of Doom, so I got finished. It was actually the longest thing I've ever written, which is really quite pitiful. But me and my gay boyfriend are still cool.

The point is, no more essays until next term! Which means I basically have this week to sleep, eat, go out, read two short stories and generally relax. *sigh of deep, deep relief*

Aside from the inevitable essay crisis, the week's been pretty damn good. Both my lecturers this week were the awesome ones; the one who looks like Dr House, and the magnificently feminist James-obsessed lovely woman I had last term. Yay. I actually get realism now! And Ireland is stalking me again. Firstly, via the IRA episode of Life On Mars (AKA, In Which My TV Boyfriend Is Horrendously Xenophobic, Yet I Continue To Love Him Anyway), and then via the talk I went to yesterday about Brian Friel's play Translations.

Cut for a literature student geek-out )

It sounds really lame and geeky, but experiences like that talk, and seeing Mad Forest on Saturday, are a big part of the reason why I wanted to come to a university as good as York, and I'm glad that I'm starting to make the most of it. My dad always told me that it'd be at university where I'd find out the stuff I was interested in, and discover writers that I'd fall in love with (Whitman! sigh) and basically become the person I'll be for the rest of my life. On the subject of my dad, I think he's noticed how completely into my course I am. Since he came up the other week, and we had our big literary discussion, we've had a few more on the phone, and yesterday he left me a 5 minute long answerphone message about ideas I could work into my Whitman essay. I didn't have the heart to tell him I'd already handed it in...

While I'm feeling mushy, let me just say that I feel really happy and (oh my god, am I actually this lame and pathetic? yes I am) privileged to have met some of the people that I've met here. You know who you are, you complete beasts, and I love you lots and lots. Like jelly tots. Hard. In the face.

Oh god, in that last paragraph I became everything I despise. Is *this* who I'll be for the rest of my life? I fucking hope not. Anyway, the whole Ireland stalking business has left me feeling compelled to make a list of stuff that anyone who's interested in The Troubles, or Irish history, or any of that stuff should read or see. It is mostly from the Irish point of view, so it's probably hideously biased, but whatever.

Because I'm a patronising, self-righteous weirdo with a conversion complex )

Tra la la. I also did another chapter of The Master And Margarita. Chapter Two is the trial and crucifixion of Jesus... from the POV of Pontius Pilate. This book is awesome.

Irish Angst

Feb. 6th, 2007 01:29 am
sophieisgod: (Elizabeth)
Mmm, today's been a rather strange one. I had a bit of a funny turn after speaking to Mum and Jo, mainly because I feel like I haven't seen any of my family for ages. I mean, I missed my nana's 80th birthday, and literally everybody else in my ginormous Irish family was there. It's really down to a combination of bastard fucking circumstances; namely my passport debacle and the ensuing lack of international travel capability, my Friday seminar at stupid o'clock that I can't get out of, my lack of plane-related funds and numerous academic crises. And I hate that my seeing everyone keeps getting put off, and I hate that the one time everyone's together I can't make it, and I hate that I missed seeing my Nana dance like a Munchkin and my 14 year old cousin Owen get completely wankered on cider.

And then, when I think about my Irish family, it makes me think about the ways that being half-Irish impacts me, and the way I react to certain things, and the way Mum sounds on the phone when she's talking to Ireland. I remember realising that the majority of people in the UK weren't Catholic, and it made me feel a bit odd, like I was part of an actual minority. And then when we did Northern Ireland in Politics, I would get so angry when these completely fucking English dicks like Nazi Peter would start mouthing off about British Sovereignty when they had absolutely no idea about oppression and persecution and political injustice and what it felt like not to be a part of your own country. And everything that I feel is so much more acute when it comes to my mum. I didn't work out until a couple of years ago that she came to London in 1973, at the height of The Troubles, when she was younger than I am now. She used to get spat at in the street. And it makes me so angry when people say that the UK is a tolerant and multicultural society, because we are nowhere near there yet. There's so much resentment simmering away under the surface, on all sides, and it's getting worse and worse. And I don't understand the concept of British national pride. At all. What is there to be proud of, exactly? Ooh, colonialism, that was fun. Remember that time we decided we had the right to run other countries and use them for trade and get them to fight our wars? I'd rather be a revolutionary than a bully. Perhaps a demented rant at 1 AM isn't the best way to vent all this stuff, but whatever.

I don't know, it just feels like I'm connected to there, and I always will be. The last time I was over, we took a driving tour, and I stood on these cliffs on the West Coast, looking out over the Atlantic, and it felt so much like home it was ridiculous. And I'm probably just romanticising this, the way that I romanticise everything about my life when I write it down, because if I didn't I'd go insane with the fucking blah-ness of it all.

Also, my use of an icon of the most iconic British monarch ever in a post dealing mostly with my Irish identity? That's irony, man. Plus Cate Blanchett wins at life.


sophieisgod: (Default)
she's got red lipstick and a bright pair of shoes

August 2015

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