Just before I put the next post up, (which is little more than a placeholder really, but pretty at least) I thought I would at least do my readers and myself the courtesy of cleaning out my blogging attic as it were. I found this in my unpublished tray, and thought I would share it. On looking at it my overwhelming thought is that I wish I had enough time to waste on things like this now, but that's life I suppose. Enjoy.

Labels: random

I don't really have anything special to write, but I had to show this off to the world. Originally from here.


LOL. If you don't get the reference, then you fail at geek chicdom, and the Internet, since it became quite prime meme hunting territory. Here's the link to the part in question though, so you fail better. It's just like Beckett said: Fail, Fail Again, Fail Better. That's right, I mix the high brow with the low brow. Suck it.

Labels: blog, random

Labels: blog, bored, random, yay

I've just finished a bit of a boozey blitz through southern England, and now I think it's more than time enough to update this blog. I went dwon to Winchester to see my ex-housemates, which was fantastic - it seemed so long since I had seen them. I've made a mental note to put more effort into even casual keeping up with that lot - they really were / are a good bunch. The day after I was in London to celebrate an old school friend's birthday, and just today I've driven back from what was enthusiactically called 'Farmageddon' - a night of prosecco-based debauchery down in Kent. Suffice to say, I'm a little relieved to have three days of decent drinking behind me, and having just popped out of the hot tub, I can say without regret, that as fun as getting wasted can be - sometimes the creature comforts of my parents' house (Sky HD, good food, etc.) does take the biscuit.

But kind of on the back of the sandwich night of my triumvirate of drinking, I want to talk about Karaoke. I love karaoke. I think most people do (although some people pretend they don't). But there is a politics attached to the whole odd-social right that is getting drunk and belting out your very own cover version in front of your mates. In my mind, there are key elements to getting the perfect karaoke night.

Pre-lash.
 Crucial this. Don't put enough Dutch Courage in your belly, and you might lose your bottle when the time comes, and freak out on stage. Alternatively, get to plastered, and you risk entering school/uni/workplace mythology, as the guy or girl who got through 7 bars of Karma Chameleon, and then promptly chundered everywhere. I think the most important thing is to make sure that you maintain yourself at a level where you are ready to sing at any point. Prefereably do rounds with someone(s) else, otherwise you risk believing you are going to be able to sing perfectly lucidly, when in fact, you are already dribbling on your arm. Go for mixers without Red Bull and other rubbish - you're probably going to be buzzing enough from nerves, you don't need your CNS blistering with a caffeine injection too. Below is a picture of myself and my sister preparing with admirable style. Take your cues from that.



Song choice.
A real tripping point this, potentially, and also one which you have no excuse for not working on in advance. In fact, I don't just recommend that you try and figure out in advance, I urge you. Because if there is one guarentee I can offer, it is that in the heat of the moment, you will be unable to think of ANY song to sing. Don't depend on doing one of a few famous classics either - Don't Stop Beleivin' by Journey might be a brilliant song choice, but if someone has just sung it, you can't expect to do an encore and win any plaudits more grand than 'good effort'. Power ballads are too emotional (unless you are so drunk anyway that you need to play the comic card to try and mitigate the shame of your drunken, awful songmaking. Raps never work. Ever. Ditto for songs with small elements of rap within. Just don't do it. Duets are potentially good, either as a tool of seduction, or as a way of sharing any embarassment. But again, trying to have a duet appropriate to whoever you end up singing with can be difficult. The Time of My Life from Dirty Dancing is no good as a duet with your Dad at a wedding. Unless you are with a really trendoid girl, Sunny and Cher's I Got You Babe is going to be less seductive than it is a bit creepy.

Singing ability.
Possibly the most important factor of all - many a would-be karaoke enthusiast has lost years of preperatory work on this final hurdle. There are only a few types of karaoke that are acceptable. One of those is ragingly bad, although in many cases this isn't exactly de rigeour either. A happy medium of pleasant to listen to but a little bit wavery is ideal. Unless you are an exceptional vocalist, do not try and be awesome. No one likes a try hard with an ego. The inverse of this is true though - if you are an exceptional vocalist, and then surprise everyone with your skill, that's pretty sweet (see: Jewel's little trip into the world of karaoke)

If there's one thing you should be careful about though, this is it. My final and most important advice is made clear throught the medium of photo. Observe the casual portrait of two friends, ruined, by the imposition of an overly enthusiastic background singer. Ah. The shame. Well, that's all folks. Until next time.

Labels: blog, bored, random

Labels: anger, jobs, random

When you think about rooms at uni (digs if you insist on being archaically English, dorms is you want to be an American jock) you can access a whole host of different resonances. On the one hand, a slightly damp, cinder block-based construction comes to mind. On the other hand, anything absolutely plastered with sports pennants also suits the bill (do non-Americans know what these are - they aren't common here). But having had three years at uni already, and at least one more on the way, I thought it was time to sit back and have a very real think about what exactly makes the ULTIMATE dorm room. Not just a clean one. Not just somewhere which doesn't reek of a 32-hour World of Warcraft binge. But the type of room which positively radiates greatness. Carlsberg don't make dorms, but if they did, they would be like this. Not just a dorm room, but an M&S dorm room. And other suitable slogans. The most important thing to do before embarking on a stylistic journey like this is to look where you have come from before you even look to where you are going.  In first year I was somewhat restricted in personal expression due to a rather tasteless furniture set that UL had deemed worthy of inflicting upon me. As a result, my expression sought new pastures. I was quite into edgy, heroin-chic literature, and so I was unduly influenced by Will Self's remarkable study:




Although, unlike the flâneur's map-driven room above, my room was filled with post-it notes stuffed full of slightly more elementary things; dictionary definitions to be precise. If you have read any Will Self before then you will fully understand that the need to radically expand my lexicon went hand in hand with my desire to cover it with little squares of yellow paper.

In my second and third years I rented a house in Camden with a group of very lovely friends, and my room then was slightly bigger, and didn't have the depressingly bulk-order furniture either. I thought, here is a chance to create my masterpiece; here, for the first time is the canvas suitable for my unusually expressive brushwork. Here's what I had:


Apologies for the blurriness (I know right? This isn't the 90's, but tell that to my camera phone), but as you can see, it's basically an IKEA room. A nice one, and certainly one I enjoyed living in an awful lot, but an IKEA room nonetheless. Although I hasten to add, nothing like the IKEA room that IKEA themsevles purport to be an exemplar of how, with their furniture you can get a room to look:


I KNOW! What the hell is that? I want to know what university IKEA visual design staff went to that gave them the impression that anyone would live in a room this big during university. This is a fortress. It's fucking palatial. That's partly envy speaking, I'm sure, but the point stands - never in my life have I seen such an optimistic fashioning of the humble dorm room. I'm also concerned for the occupant. Anyone who uses a rocking chair in their academic pursuits probably isn't leaving with more than a third. Nice little round mats though. They make me think of drops of giant's blood. Still, it gives you some expression (distorted or otherwise) of the inherent potential that a space has. And speaking of potential, I leave you with pictures of the preppiest coolest looking room I have ever seen, belonging to a senior of French and Art History at some American college. Utterly fantastic. If I had more money (for additional ties) I would certainly emulate. Although again, you do wonder, where does he sleep and study. On the dresser?:


It looks like a gentleman's opium den. I love it. If you want to see a few more pictures, then the original link is here, to an article in the chirpily named New York Home Design. I like the mini-mini-bar as well, if only for the pleasing mise en abîme you get when describing the thing.

P.S. My cousin got a training contract with Ashurst (very enviable) and is now going to London to study the GDL. Apparently they told him on his first day to turn up with a wheeled suitcase to take all of the new law books he has to handle. That made me pretty jealous if I'm honest.

P.P.S Apparently I got onto the pre-term intensive Latin course. I am stoked, but also shockingly frightened. I mean, how much Latin can you learn in two weeks? Hopefully loads I guess!

Labels: cambridge, random, university

I fancied writing a new post, as I have quite a lot of time on my hands tonight, the parents having gone to bed pretty much as the program about the Amish teenagers on Channel 4 finished, and my sister having retreated, hermit crab-like, into the recesses of her flat-screen tv appointed room. My girlfriend is probably deep in Skype conversation with a uni friend off to China tomorrow, and so I'm rather on my lonesome. Or so I thought, because in a flash of inspiration, I remembered that with the internet, you're never quite alone at all. And tonight, not because it's important, and not because it's interesting, but for the simple reason that I feel like talking about it, I want to to consider a set of miniature topics. I realise this is unconventional, and that bloggers seeking fame are advised to find a niche, stick to it, and give long and detailed expositions on the area of their choosing. But I am an innovator (apparently a male trait due to risk-seeking personas, thank you The Naked Woman, by Desmond Morris for that one. It's not all good news though, the risk-seeking strategies evolutionarily encoded in men also mean at age 30 they are 15 times more accident prone than their female counterparts) and as such, refuse to shy away from this ground-breaking approach. I choose, as my starting position, Careers, and then will move along to two more, at least tangentially connected topics. My main reason for choosing Careers is probably because I spend most of my time talking about it of late with my partner. (Incidental note - I think I will now start to call my girlfriend my partner - it has more gravitas. Incidental note that occurs as I write this incidental note: possibly might make people assume I'm gay. Will talk to girlfriend/partner about what she thinks.) Anyway, after an inexcusable amount of rambling, here we go:

Careers.

It's not a 'come hell or high water' type thing for me, but at the moment, I quite fancy being a solicitor. Apart from the obvious draw of the profession that solicitor is, in fact, an anagram of 'clitoris'. There are lots of things going for it. Decent pay, varied work, and a sense of involvement in bigger things. But my goodness if it isn't tricky to get into. I'm applying again for internships this year, after a stunning failure last year, and hoping for a bit more luck. But sometimes it does feel, especially considering the type of people I went to uni with - many of whom are all over high-flyer careers already, that the boat has left without you. I've got my hopes set on a vacation scheme at Slaughter and May this Christmas - I think I have more than a rubbish chance, but as last year showed, the track record is not exactly superb. I would just like to get one really, as I do really feel once you have one, it would become exponentially easier to get the next, and in turn the next, ad infinitum. Plus I use phrases like ad infinitum, and someone has to love that right? (Speaking of latin, I today learned that 'invictus' was Latin for 'unconquered'.)

Sartorial elegance.

But if you've got a career, and god willing, I will do some day, then you have to look the part. I actually think I'm quite a good dresser, but perhaps could do with toning it down a bit. I saw a classic suit for sale  at Charles Tyrwhitt (most difficult shop in Britain to spell?) which I fell in love with, in a terrific shade of blue, lighter than navy, but just about doable for formal stuff. Imagine my face on the below picture:



I KNOW. Brilliant isn't it. Don't get me wrong, I adore my suit, and, bespoke as it is, nothing else is really going to fit as well. But seriously, how nice is that for a second suit? I even think it's three-piece, which is of course, preferable. I also quite fancy getting a nice new handkerchief, maybe polka dotted. Is that too banker-ish? I don't know. I feel all materialist, but in a good way. It's like the burning you get when you accidentally get Deep Heat on your genitals - all-consuming, but invasively pleasant. This is what the girlfriend/partner must feel like when she buys most os ASOS.

Pet


I have a pet, a great pet, but when you're a grown-up (and if you have a career and sartorial elegance, well, frankly, I don't know what else to call you except perhaps 'object of envy') you also need a pet. Even in London I think this is true. Imagine taking Fido/Trixy/Cornelius/whatever it's called for a walk in the morning chill of an early start in Hyde Park. Or relaxing on your grown-up sofa in your grown-up flat with your down-right grown-up cat (possibly a rescue cat for extra grown-up, socially responsible brownie points). I'd even be happy with a rabbit if it could be housetrained. I did historically always want a monkey, but since that case where a monkey ripped off a woman's face, I'm rather beginning to think better of it. Possibly a substitute of one of these badboys might do it.

Personality Tests

Ok ok, I said I'd do three, but the little monkey made me think about that monkey in The Golden Compass (or The Northern Lights if you weren't a horrid little American brat like I was when it came out). Plus it's slightly related to the Careers bit because of psychometric testing and stuff, so it kind of takes us full-circle nicely. Although, honestly, I really don't care about that, I only want to find out my daeaeeeaaamon or however the hell Pullman decided to spell it....

(I've gone to do an online test)

...hmm, looks like I'm a magpie or a raven. Not sure how I feel about that, especially as the profile doesn't sound like quintessential Danny. Plus, I'm not sure a magpie is going to be badass enough for me really. Might retake. But it's like a massive effort. I guess that a magpie is good enough. Actually I just saw the picture below and I'm warming to the idea. He looks pretty dangerous. Bet he's scrappy in a fight too. Yeah ok. Magpie, you're cool.

Labels: bored, random

Today after dinner the whole family inadvertantly got embroiled in a nostalgia trip, especially our time in America. We traded anecdotes, laughed as we remembered, or at least pretended to remember, all the jaunty times we had spent abroad. Somehow this led onto a discussion of the sights of our former home, Plano, TX (Texas to the unAmerican, unintiated). And of course, we decided to do that thing which so often happens - we used technology to try and recover our nostalgic eden, and only ended up making it seem a bit further away.

To the point, we followed the old highways, retraced our old steps (suprisingingly regular it turns out) and looked at all the sights from above as best we could. There was some discussion as to whether Dad's office was, in fact, where he said it was, and not a mall, but we are fairly confident now that it is indeed said office.But what was most telling was when we looked at the house.

So, wallah - I give you 4541, Hitching Post Lane.

(That's it on the side if you find it difficult to make connections)

Not a bad place at all, and we certainly enjoyed our time there. Lovely big rooms, lots of ensuites, all in all, a genuine American slice of lebensraum. And then my finger fell backwards on my mouse, scrolling the zoom outwards. Behold, the cream of Americana, the most super of suburbs, the matchbox house capital of the greater Dallas area - our housing estate.

Wow. Ours is the little one marked A.

Labels: random

I know what you're all thinking. 'Danny's a great guy. But you know who else is a great guy - Jude Law. If only I could...' Well let me stop you there, because through the miracle of the internet, and gratuitous amounts of time to myself, I have fashioned a monster of Frankenstein-like proportions. At Morphthing you can merge any two faces, or you can make a predicted baby. I wanted to see what my baby would look like with a certain Scottish girl, but I had neither the appropriate picture, nor 3.5 minutes to wait (I have no idea why it takes so long for children instead of normal morphs - perhaps it's supposed to represent gestation or something. Anyway, here is how half of my face, combined with half of Jude's face looks.

I reckon he beats us both. Smug bastard.

Labels: bored, random

"The circle of human knowledge, illuminated by the pale, cold light of reason, is so infinitesimally small, the dark regions of human ignorance which lie beyond that luminous ring so immeasurably vast, that imagination is feign to step up to the borderline and send the warm, richly colored beams of her fairy lantern streaming out into the darkness ; and so, peering into the gloom, she is apt to mistake the shadowy reflections of her own figure for real beings moving in the abyss.

Sir James George FrazerThe Golden Bough

April 2010 / May 2010 / June 2010 / July 2010 / August 2010 / September 2010 / February 2011 / April 2011 / August 2011 / September 2011 /

Messing with Illustrator / /homeless / The irony of househunting. / Househunting / Some old material / Favourite capture on Google Maps Street View / Idiot librarian / THIS IS NOT THAT DAY! / Confirmation (not religious) / love data? love data. /

The title of this blog comes from a poem by Coleridge, A Wish: Wriiten in Jesus Wood, Feb. 10th, 1792, Plus most blogs are moans anyway. Including this one. lol manuscripts

email me here
twitter dannywhitelock
bootlessmoan.blogspot.com

I'm a 23 year-old student in London Cambridge London, studying English Literature Law. It's hard to really think of anything truly personal I can put here that might give you some idea of who I am, so I will just tell you that my favourite Shakespeare play is Richard II, my favourite chocolate bar is Snickers, and I have a bit of a thing for instant coffee, especially if someone else makes it for me.

I'm interested in Renaissance Literature, Higher Education policy, and libraries.
I'm completely in love with a Scottish girl.