Oxymorons

Posted on Sep 3, 2016 by headinablender

This morning, as I drove up to the gym, I noticed several cars circling the car park (parking lot) like sharks.

I soon realised they were looking for spaces that were as close to the gym entrance as possible.

These people were actually trying to avoid having to walk too far. Now, I could understand this behaviour if it was raining or the zombie apocalypse was upon us, but this is Las Vegas; it’s nothing but sunshine and blue skies.

It’s a hard life.

What makes it more ridiculous is the fact that I saw these pillocks 20 minutes later clocking up miles on the treadmill.

Still, at least these cretins didn’t get my space right by the entrance.

Result.

The cinema ‘experience’ (Part 3)

Posted on Nov 7, 2014 by headinablender

Following on from parts one and two, here is the final category in why the cinema experience isn’t that great.

3. The Performance

Bearing in mind I left the comfort of my home to see a film, I still have some issues with the viewing experience. These are:

~~Retard~~ Retail therapy

All the adverts.

SO many adverts.

The same adverts that we’ve seen on TV, but this time they’re the unedited, longer versions that we can’t avoid on the massive screen. Usually we’d ignore them at home by making tea, fast forwarding (if it’s a recorded program) or muting them entirely.

Not at the cinema.

Nope, here you have to endure it all in high definition with super loud digital surround sound.

Still boring.

In addition to the adverts for cars, yoghurts, perfumes, mobile phones and alcohol (seriously, what exactly IS the demographic here?), they have at least 3 or 4 adverts about the cinema experience.

Eh?

It’s basically 10 minutes spent telling us how great it is to visit the cinema and how much you should go to the cinema and what to expect at the cinema…..WHILST YOU’RE SAT IN THE CINEMA!

Surely these are the adverts that should be on TV? I really don’t understand the point of advertising a product to people who are already using it.

“Try Oxygen….it’s great!”

In addition, they advertise that “It’s not too late to grab a Coke from the foyer”.

This isn’t because you’ve forgotten to buy refreshments, but because you’ve already finished your drink during the 40 minutes of crap you’ve had to endure prior to the film.

Technical difficulties

Blurry screen, sound out of sync, all the lights staying on, lines and marks on the picture throughout, bad sound etc… I’ve experienced it all.

The daddy of technical fuck ups, however, was back when ‘Star Trek: Into Darkness’ was having its run back in 2013. I had already seen it in 3D, but I really wanted to see it again in IMAX so I decided to go to a late night showing [1].

The film got to around 10 minutes from the end when suddenly the screen went pitch black. The sound was still going on, but there were no visuals.

Never before has a film’s title been so appropriate.

After everyone in the cinema had heard the end of the film, a staff member came out and apologised. He then said they were going to restart the film from the place we’d lost the picture. We all breathed a sigh of relief and sat back to watch the last 10 minutes properly.

They started it from half way. The film is over 2 hours in length.

Bollocks.

I was getting tired, but I decided to Klingon until the end of the film.

(groan)

I eventually left the cinema around 2am.

“Khaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan…….ts”

The limbo moment

I hate this moment in movies.

It’s that span of silence between the BBFC film card…

…and the first bit of anything actually happening on screen.

The reason I hate this is because people are unable to put away their phones or stop their inane conversations until something actually happens on screen to distract them. They’re like fucking cavemen seeing fire for the first time.

“Duuuuuuh?”

Once something happens (dialogue, action, anything), their conversations die down and their phones (mostly) get put away.

It’s like distracting a crying baby with a set of jangling keys.

The only Limbo moment that I love (which always commands total silence in a cinema) is the one between the 20^th Century Fox fanfare and the trumpet blast of the Star Wars opening Crawl.

That silence is gorgeous.

Then the ‘Lucasfilm’ logo comes up, sparkles for a bit and disappears, followed by the words: “A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away….”.

Without exception, I get goosebumps of anticipation every single time.

In fact, I’m getting them right now, just thinking about it.

I felt a pang of sadness when I heard that Disney had bought the franchise. Not because I think they’ll make it all childish (after all, George Lucas was responsible for Jar Jar Binks and Disney did a great job with the Marvel franchise), but because I was going to miss the 20th Century Fox/Star Wars crawl combo.

Will we get that goosebump moment?

I really hope they open with an X-Wing or the Millennium Falcon flying over (or through) the Disney castle at the beginning.

We’ll see.

Anyway, all this got me thinking about how I’d love the cinema experience to be. How would I run the cinemas if I was calling the shots?

Well, here are the rules and regulations I would put into place:

No mobile phones allowed in the screens. They will need to be checked in with staff, or switched off and inserted rectally.

Only quiet foods allowed, such as Marshmallows or warm soup (hot soup would involve too much slurping). All food will be served in bowls; nice quiet bowls.

You can still have popcorn, but only as much as you can carry in your hands.

Food prices will be reasonable, negating the need to sneak in your own (we all do it!)

No talking. Snipers with tranquiliser darts will be deployed in all screens.

No babies in the screens. Ever. Babysitting services will be provided.

Children will be allowed. Snipers with lower dosage tranquiliser darts will be deployed in all screens.

No adverts. Plenty of trailers and previews of course.

Large, soft, reclining seats with footrests. Most will have vibrating massage features as standard. Plenty of legroom.

Allocated parking. One vehicle per party. If there’s a lot of you, hire a minivan.

Friendly staff. Preferably film lovers and nerds. All staff will be required to watch every movie with free food and drink provided.

That will do for starters, although I get the feeling I may have gone a bit too far here.

Oh well.

I don’t care.

At the end of the day, it’s all about the movies.

I love movies and I will always love movies. To be honest, I don’t think I’ll ever stop going to the cinema because, despite its shortcomings, it’s easy to forget all the hassle when you’re engrossed in a really good film.

One day I will find the perfect cinema experience (in a galaxy far, far away?), but until then my search will continue.

Fin.

[1] The best time to go to the cinema is for a VERY late showing, ideally around 11pm. Then it’s usually only you and some fat guy in a black t-shirt. On this occasion there were a small handful, just like the popcorn in rule number 3.

The cinema ‘experience’ (Part 1)

Posted on Nov 6, 2014 by headinablender

It’s no secret that I love going to the cinema.

But, to be completely truthful, I don’t really.

I mean, I DO love going to the cinema to watch a new film, but I’m not a fan of the experience as a whole.

It all boils down to the fact that I’m not a massive fan of being around people, and going to the cinema means I have to share my movie experience with other people.

As I’ve become older I’ve discovered that my tolerance and patience for other people is smaller and more insipid than cinema nachos.

So here are some of the things I hate about going to the cinema, grouped into three categories: The place, the people and the performance.

1. The Place

Obviously if you want to see a new film you have to leave the comfort of your sofa, leave the house and drive all the way to cinema just for the privilege of watching it on a bigger screen. Once you’re out of the house it’s not so bad though.

That is until you get there.

Parking

There’s never a space in the car park anywhere near the cinema entrance.

If you do find a space you can be sure some other bastard will beat you to it by nanoseconds.

So you end up driving slowly around the car park like a prowling sex pest, cursing at the space that just opened up behind you which has now been taken by that person who arrived after you did.

Don’t get me started on the wanker who parks across two bays.

Note to self: come back and key that fucker’s car.

You can guarantee that the further away from the cinema entrance you are, the heavier it’s likely to be raining. I often have to park so far away that I need to catch a plane to the building.

Lobby

Once you’ve parked and walked the 20 miles to the lobby, you’re then faced with the massive queues of people waiting to buy tickets. These queues are usually full of people you hope aren’t seeing the same film as you.

They usually are.

Nowadays I buy my tickets online because I absolutely hate queuing. I just walk up to a machine and enter my booking reference. Having said that, there’s no guarantee I won’t get caught behind some dipshit trying to figure out how to use the touchscreen machine.

I admit that a big flashing button that says ‘Touch here to collect tickets’ can be a little vague.

Food and Drink

Once you’ve got your ticket(s) it’s time to buy your refreshments.

I’ve never understood the need to graze when you’re watching a film, but it’s the ‘done thing’. I once chose not to buy anything to eat or drink and was looked at with a combination of surprise, confusion, disgust and pity.

It felt like we were all stood in the lobby of a brothel and I’d declared I wasn’t going to use a condom, or that my penis had just fallen off.

It wasn’t because I couldn’t afford anything, nor was I planning to steal anyone else’s food; I just wasn’t hungry or thirsty. But peer pressure is a bitch and so I bought some popcorn and a drink. It cost more than the cinema ticket…for 5 people.

Why is cinema food and drink so ~~crap~~ expensive?

You can buy a 2 litre bottle of Coke for £2 in a supermarket, and yet my ‘medium’ Coke cost me over £4, 80% of which was ice. That’s frozen water, which is free.

At least the staff members who serve you are friendly. Oh wait, no they’re not.

Seating

These are mostly uncomfortable, stained and sometimes sticky.

More often than not the cup holders are broken.

What makes it worse are the fact that the seats are all bolted together along the row which means if seat 19A fidgets in their seat to scratch their arse, I feel it in seat 19M.

Very distracting. I often lose my erection.

To be continued….

Luck with a capital F

Posted on Dec 7, 2013 by headinablender

My wife, being from the United States, needed to set up a bank account as every transaction in which she used her American debit card was causing her to be glared at like she was robbing the place. Even the nice ladies at the supermarket suddenly transform into ferocious interrogation officers, scrutinising the information on her card and I.D. like a dieter with a packet of biscuits.

Also, she’ll soon be working and companies prefer to pay directly into an account rather than give cash or cheques directly to employees, maybe because this involves actually touching them or something; I don’t know.

Needless to say, she needed a bank account.

So, it made sense that I set her up with the bank (sorry, ‘building society’) that I’ve been with all my life. This would make it easier if we ever need to transfer funds to each other and I have a better understanding of how that bank (sorry, ‘building society’) operates.

We had originally set up an account for her online two weeks prior and had received instant approval, but the paperwork had not arrived in the promised “3-5 working days”.

I assume they use the term ‘Working days’ with a sense of irony.

This resulted in us calling them only to be told that she needed to visit a branch of the bank (sorry, ‘building society’) in order for them to validate her identification. Thanks for telling us. I have no issue with visiting a branch in person, but don’t allow us to arrange it online if we still need to physically go to the bank (sorry, ‘building society’) anyway. Amazon doesn’t ask us to go and pick up our item from their depot after ordering something online, and if this is the trend of things to come I’ll be fucked if I’m buying anything from DFS.

It’s online for a reason people.

I assume they use the term ‘Applying for a Flexaccount online is easy’ with a sense of irony.

But, having said that, we also needed to post a Christmas gift to America AND arrange for my wife to get a haircut, so it made sense to park the car in the centre of town as all three of these were very close to each other. This was ideal as we were heading up to London (for a concert in the evening) and we wanted to leave as early as possible so my wife could at least spend some time in the capital beforehand.

We should’ve only be about half an hour, maybe an hour…maximum. Then we could’ve gone and caught our train.

So we drove into town, parked at a nearby car park and I walked over to put change in the ticket machine. I reached into my pocket and produced three £1 coins.

“That’ll be more than enough” I thought to myself.

‘Up to 2 hours – £3.10’

I’m sorry, what? Are you fucking kidding me? £3.10?? I don’t need two hours! And who the hell comes up with an idiotic price like that?

I was just about to grudgingly get another £1 from the car when I saw the words ‘No Change Given’ on the machine. Aha, that explains the cock-eyed price. They were relying on people like me not having the random shrapnel needed to pay for the privilege of parking my car. Why not make it £3.88 so at least it covers all the coins in one transaction?

Wankers.

Basically it was going to cost me four quid to park my car for half an hour or so.

No fucking way.

I gave my wife the parcel for the post office and told her I’d re-park in the local supermarket which was £1 for 2 hours; we’d then meet outside the post office and visit the bank (sorry, ‘building society’) and hair salon together.

Off she went.

I drove to the supermarket (a 2 minute drive that took 15 minutes in pre-Christmas Saturday traffic), parked up, paid the £1 and walked 10 minutes back to the Post Office. There, as expected, was my wife, but she was not looking happy.

It seemed the Post Office wouldn’t accept her debit card.

Of course.

I went in, paid, glared at the unapologetic assistant for doing everything but assist, and we left.

I assume they use the term ‘Assistant’ with a sense of irony.

We then crossed the road to the bank (sorry, ‘building society’) before realising the documentation she needed was still in the car.

Of course.

So we began the 10 minute walk back to the car, stopping off at the hair salon to arrange an appointment for my wife to get a trim. This salon was always open on a Sunday which was perfect for us as time was ticking.

Not this Sunday though. This Sunday they were shut. No reason; they just were.

Of course.

We left, walked the rest of the way to the car and drove back through the traffic to the bank (sorry, ‘building society’) where, of course, I wasn’t allowed to park.

Fuck it, I was going to wait outside. All my wife needed now, as she headed into the bank (sorry, ‘building society’), was a shotgun and a balaclava for me to really look the part.

She had been in there less than a minute when I spied a traffic warden in my rear view mirror walking up the street. Oh come on!

I calmly and furiously moved into the car park opposite and sat in my car poised and ready to drive away and/or punch the shit out of someone if challenged.

After about three minutes my wife came out shaking her head. It seemed the bank (sorry, ‘building society’) weren’t happy with her American I.D. card and driving licence as proof of identification as advised by the friendly customer service representative we’d called the day before. Apparently she needed to produce her passport.

I assume they use the term ‘Customer service’ with a sense of irony.

Usually this would result in us rolling our eyes, but considering we were already late for getting to the capital, we were starting to get pissed off. We drove home, picked up her passport, drove back and arrived at the bank (sorry, ‘building society’) 40 minutes later. In she went again. I parked up and cracked my knuckles in readiness.

This time she was in there about 10 minutes before coming out; a face like thunder. It appears that, due to money laundering regulations, she’s unable to open a bank (sorry, ‘building society’) account for the first three months of living in the UK. Something that could’ve been mentioned A BIT EARLIER ON DON’T YOU THINK?!?!

What a massive shitting fucking pisslicking waste of time.

I use the term ‘Fucking morons’ with no sense of irony.

Well, I suppose everything comes in threes. The post office, the bank (sorry, ‘building society’) and the hair salon. Surely that’s the end of it?

Nope.

We got to the station and the queue was just long enough for us to miss the train by 2 minutes resulting in a half hour wait for the next one.

The carriage was nice and quiet except for the three girls sat RIGHT in front of us who didn’t stop talking fat sweaty hairy bollocks throughout the entire journey.

At the concert we were at the front (result!) and when someone at the back decided to throw their drink forward it just happened to miss everyone except my wife and I. Mmm, eye-stingingly refreshing.

After the concert the tube was delayed due to someone being taken ill on another train. Once the ambulance had finally arrived and sorted it out 15 minutes later, we were advised that the train would now be delayed due to someone on another train pulling the fucking emergency cord.

We should’ve known this morning, when the alarm didn’t go off, that it was going to be a fantastic day.

No parking!

Posted on Oct 24, 2013 by headinablender

This morning I was greeted by this…

Some inconsiderate prick thought it was a good idea to park their car right across my garage.

My first instinct was to get in my car and sound the horn until the fucker came out and then punch them in the face, but it was 7am and I didn’t really want to wake the whole neighbourhood. I was angry, but that didn’t excuse me being an annoying wanker about it.

My second instinct was to kick or scratch their car, but considering my vehicle is the only one blocked in, it would’ve pretty obvious who had done the damage and I didn’t want to risk them retaliating.

It’s not like I could move my car and hide it afterwards.

This is also the reason I resisted squatting on the bonnet and laying a hot fresh pie on their windscreen.

Shame, because the first one of the day is usually the meatiest.

And if they didn’t retaliate I could be slapped with a fine for criminal damage, which is always fun.

So instead I was terribly British and paced back and forth, muttering under my breath, and shaking my head in a misguided belief that it would somehow flush out the culprit…which it didn’t.

Instead I was left feeling more helpless and frustrated than a handcuffed pervert watching porn.

I was also angry that my four minute drive to the train station was going to result in a thirty minute uphill walk on a very, VERY cold October morning.

All I could do was take a photo (to send to my boss showing that my reason for being late is in fact genuine – not that I’m a cynic!), close my garage, lift their wiper blade up in defiance and begin my tedious walk to the station.

I would’ve left a note under their wiper blades but annoyingly I didn’t have time to go back in the house to write it. If I left immediately and walked at the blistering pace of an angry woman, I might just be able to make the later train.

I did, however, do the one thing that I thought might make me feel better; the one thing that may help ease my suffering and give me a sense of comfort. I posted it on Facebook.

Within seconds I got the affirmation and acknowledgement I was so clearly craving, with lots of advice on a variety of vindictive things I could’ve done to teach this parking penis a lesson. My favourite comment was this small poem…

Dear driver of the black car

Who do you think you are?

Don’t you find it bizarre…

You park but wander somewhere far?

Now my mate can’t access his car

Better this note, than my fucking crowbar!

Brilliant.