A very Merry X-Mas indeed

Every year I give myself a few X-Mas gifts as to make sure that I receive something I very much would like to receive. Call me ungrateful but that's how my mum prefers it (she hands me some money followed by "buy something you want, wrap it and say it's from me"). It lacks a certain element of surprise but has an abundance of convenience for the both of us.

   So this year I went with socks with pictures of silly dogs on them. A copy of Fight Club 2 I had to gift-wrap the moment I got it in the mail as to  not read it immediately. A couple of games I found on sale on Steam (I couldn't gift-wrap them but there wasn't any real need to). A wall calendar by Maul Cosplay (entirely for research purposes I assure you, upper left corner warning label reads "High Nipple Rate!" so it really stays true to the game series).

   I needn't have worried about an absence of nerdy gifts though. My sister gave me a TARDIS tea mug and a Doctor Who shower curtain.

   Last but not least I got food.
   Food never fails to make me merry.

Beer with me

Early X-Mas gift from the boyfriend: beer.
The fancy kind I can't waste money on right now.
Awesome.

The Hutt Recommends: Dandy in the Underworld

Dandy in the Underworld by Sebastian Horsley.
(TW: substance abuse, suicide mention)

"When Mother found out she was pregnant with me she took an overdose. Father gave her the pills. She needed a drama from time to time to remind her that she was still alive. The overdose didn't work. Had she known I would turn out like this she would have taken cyanide." p.1

This is how the autobiography of Sebastian Horsley takes its flying start, and it continues in the same self-deprecating spirit. With every page Sebastian takes us through a life of escapades littered with absurdity and vulgarity.

   After growing up one of three children born of negligent addicts in what I can only describe as an abusive setting ("Indeed, everyone in my life who should have been vertical was horizontal."p.38) Sebastian sued his father for a large sum of money, consorted with convicted murderers, went to art school and fell in love all before seeing his twentieth birthday. He'd move on to get married, commit adultery, get divorced, continue to make art, do heavy drugs and sleep with prostitutes in between making massive amounts of money on the stock market. Even Sebastian could see his addiction to crack getting overboard so he got himself into a clinic. Stayed clean for a while. Started doing crack again. Got off of crack. Got into heroin. Got off heroin. Constructed a few art shows that didn't do too well. It wasn't until he went to the Philippines to have himself crucified in front of a camera team that he found himself in the spotlight not only in the UK but internationally.

   The main theme is dandyism in all its eccentricity; it is always the subject to which Sebastian unrelentingly returns to.

 "I was a disciple of satin and Satan." p.263

The book is revolting at times, shocking... most of the time.

   This also happens to be one of my favourite books. Sebastian Horsley was an artist of words, a wordsmith in truth, and Dandy in the Underworld is proof of that. Yes, some of these recollections are at the height of absurdity but always described in such an elegant, witty and brilliant way that you can't help but keep reading and taking it in. Here is the man who started doing heavy drugs, make 'art' with his own excrement and have frequent meetings with prostitutes before the age of twenty. He would later also get crucified, get banned from entering the US for 'moral turpitude' and make a YouTube Guide to Whoring.

   I have great trouble remembering that this was in fact a real person who died of an overdose in 2010, only three years after the publishing of this autobiography  and only two days after the premiere of the one-man show based on the book. His friend Toby Young, a journalist you might also know as the writer of How to Lose Friends and Alienate People, commented that "if it had been suicide Sebastian would not have passed up on the opportunity to write a note" and considering what a slave to drama dear old Mr Horsley was, that sounds pretty much on the nose. So he made a book out of it. Dandy in the Underworld ends with what I can only interpret as the finale and finishing touches to a suicide note of epic proportions.

 "I came into this world a king, I leave it a wild card. I believe in being nothing - but with as much style as I can." p.322

This book is not for everyone. I love it.

Third down

   Sean Astin is an amazing human being.

   Lucky he turned out to be the amazing human being he is, because he was the only reason I decided to hop on a train (train commuting in this country is tragic, always count on being at least 20 minutes late to your destination) and go to Stockholm (a city I dislike terribly and try to avoid unless I'm paid) and their take on the Scandinavian Sci-Fi, Game and Film Convention (arranged several times a year in different cities).

   This was my third Con this year (Gothenburg, Helsingborg, and now Stockholm) because... LotR actors. David Wenham, Billy Boyd and now Sean Astin. I've started hunting them down to make them sign my LotR trilogy illustrated by Alan Lee.

   Astin ended the signing (after having had a geek-out over the illustrations) with slamming the book shut and pinning me with a stare.

Him: "You know what I hate about you?"

Me, squinting suspiciously: "What?"

Him: "Nothing!"

   After which he laughed, grabbed my hand, shook it and told me he loved my hair. And that's that.

   Three down.

Fantastic rubbish and why I disliked it

SPOILERS GALORE.
BEWARE, HERE BE DRAGONS. LOTS OF THEM.

If you had it in your mind to think that this was the movie about the author of the much talked about textbook Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them, the widely appreciated magizoologist Newt Scamander, you can just do yourself a favour and toss that thought out the window.
   Let me tell you a thing:
   In the movie Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them we travel to the USA in the 1920's to sneak a peek at how the magical society's arranged outside of Europe. Here we get to follow the No-Maj (see also: 'muggle') Jacob Kowalski; a man stuck in a dead end job at a can factory but with grand dreams of eventually opening a bakery. Life is strange and the ginger man with the suitcase that Jacob runs into at the bank even more so, and suddenly he crashes head first into the magical world.

   This movie had no hook.
   In classic movie making you spend the first 20-30 minutes of a movie introducing characters and presenting the problem that will have to be solved or the mission that needs to be completed through the course of the movie. Example: Zootopia - meet Judy Hopps, the bunny who wants to be a cop. Within 10 minutes we know who Judy is and what her goals are. Within the next 10 minutes we know the problems she'll have to face and get past. Within a total of 30 minutes I know exactly who Judy is, what her motivations are and her mission for the remaining 60 minutes. There are of course exceptions (mostly sequels) and even though we're supposed to already know the world in which Fantastic Beasts is set, we really don't (because this is more of a bad reboot) and the characters are all new to us.
   What I'm referring to is called 'the hook' - it is what will draw us in to the story and make us interested in sticking with the characters for the duration of the movie. The hook should make us root for the main character.
   I had no fucking clue what the movie was about until well over an hour into the movie and even then it was mostly guesswork. I realised just how empty it was. It was a movie about nothing, with plenty of surface and nostalgic hints at something that used to be popular.

   This movie gave the main character no character.
   Newt Scamander was an empty shell of a man. We received no info about Newt's personality, his motivations nor his goals. It took us over 40 minutes to find out that Newt had a passion for magical creatures, something I would think should be vital for the story to move on. But no. When we had landed that lil' tidbit of info I was already way over this movie. The same void of info applies to his pal Tina Goldstein by the way. By the end of the movie I was struck by the fact that I had probably seen more of Eddie Redmayne's hair than his face. Interesting choice but hardly a good one.
   There was no character building going on, but then on the other hand there was absolutely no character traits to build FROM. What makes it really ironic is that the side character Kowalski was rather well-formed by the end of the movie; we knew his personality (sweet, kind and curious), his goals (open bakery) and the problems he has to face before that (no money, dead end job, ginger wizard with a suitcase full of strange creatures). We even knew more about Kowalski's background halfway through the movie than we knew about Newt's.
   I never rooted for Newt. I rooted for Kowalski.

   No chemistry between spouses.
   For some of us the Harry Potter books was an excellent chance to accumulate some History of Magic by heart. Newt Scamander and Porpentina 'Tina' Goldstein supposedly get married, procreate and eventually bless us with the presence of Loony Lovegood. Whatever love these two develop for each other, they do not develop it during the duration of this movie. There is no budding love between these two. There is nothing but a blank disinterest visible to the viewer.
   Is there a beautiful something going on between Kowalski and Queenie? Yes. Again, interesting choice but hardly a good one.

   There is a magic fix for everything.
   This movie would have us think that there are no limits; magic fixes anything, you can do anything and there is no cost of magic ...really? If there are no limits and no costs anyone could do anything and things get dull very quickly from there. I was appalled to find myself losing interest in a world than meant everything to me for so many years.
   J.K. Rowling, sweetheart, you need to have a talk with Brandon Sanderson about the construction of a believable system of magic. There used to be one. But you obviously lost it. Deal with that, please.

   Casual fatphobia.
   OK, so Newt can fit a fucking rhinoceros into his suitcase with ease but a chubby guy is too much of a fucking challenge? COME THE FUCK ON!! Lazy jokes does not a good movie make.

   And then there's Johnny fucking Depp.
   I'm not even going to start on how over-appreciated I think Depp has been for the last fifteen years. Ever since Pirates of the Caribbean Depp has played nothing but Jack Sparrow. All other characters have been Jack Sparrow pretending to be someone else. Add to that Depp's latest departure down Wife Beater Lane and I can't see how ANYONE felt it was a good idea to cast him in a Young Adult movie. The moment he entered the screen I laughed out loud in disbelief. I couldn't believe it even though I knew he'd be involved somehow and hadn't yet seen him on screen. It was absurd. I can't.

TL;DR: I'm not upset because I expected miracles from Fantastic Beasts. On the contrary, I expected disaster.
And I was still disappointed by the end credits.

RIP Shepherd

2016 has proved itself to be a truly shitty year for our heroes. Now we face giving our tearfilled good bye's to Ron Glass - the man who will always be the mysterious and versatile Shepherd Book of the Firefly universe to me.

Capt Malcolm Reynolds giving his good bye's.

Skillet on a Wednesday

   It was a dark November Wednesday evening and I went to see Skillet and Red Sun Rising. I drank mediocre generic type beer and enjoyed some good music from where I stood at the back of the room. While Red Sun Rising were playing on stage I found myself surrounded by a group of young men I found eerily familiar. I suspiciously eyed them through the whole show. They turned out to be the members of Avatar.

So that happened.

   Then Skillet came on. Don't get me wrong, each to their own, but I've always found myself ridiculously uncomfortable around openly religious people. So when lead vocalist John Cooper started talking about his "hero, Jesus Christ" I clutched my beer glass tightly and made an effort not to roll my eyes too hard or groan too loudly. Luckily for my awkward ass, Jesus was never included again.

It was a good night.

Pussies are invincible

Thank you Hal Sparks for that analogy. Priceless.

Weird stuff and music

It just hit me.
I'm going to see Russel Howard next summer.
Like, WOAH. It's going to be hilarious.
Tomorrow I'm off to see American band Skillet at a local club. Where the singer from one of my favourite bands from my teenage rage days DJ from time to time. He sometimes shops at the store where I work.
Life is weird.

I love Gothenburg.

The Hutt Recommends: The Brothers Cabal

The Brothers Cabal by Jonathan L. Howard.

Remember when I rather bluntly hinted that this book would hit the Swedish market? I got it for Christmas last year and devoured it rapidly shortly after.

   Last time we got to read about Johannes and Horst one brother was slipping into unconsciousness and certain death by garden demon, and the other was, quite frankly, in a pile of ashes.
   What I really missed after moving on to the second and third parts of this series, and Horst's untimely demise, was the kind of quick-witted banter that passed between the two brothers. Nothing quite compares to brotherly love as shown through sarcastic insults.
   Here, I finally get my wish.

   In a satanic ritual, Horst Cabal is risen from the dead. Well, he's still a vampire so... still dead. But at least not in ashes. Anyway! Horst lives! (Kind of.) Resurrected (-ish) by an occult conspiracy he is to lead an army of the undead in the forthcoming war to create a land of horrors - a nation of supernatural beings. The more Horst is told of this nefarious plan the less enthused he is by the idea of it all. Not even the fact that he would actually be the ruler of the vampiric race of this new nation of supernaturals can rouse what little fighting spirit he ever had. He just wants his old way of life back - a little recreational drinking, respectfully seducing women into romantic yet strangely morally appropriate encounters. It doesn't take a genius to see that it would be impossible for him to fight the whole cult on his own though. He needs help. Perhaps the kind of help you can expect from a heavily armed sarcastic necromancer with a searing hatred for evil wizards with unfashionable trousers...
   Johannes.

   Demons from alternate dimensions. Soup. Rebels. Airplanes. The moans of the undead. Tentacles.
   No zebras this time. But there is a werebadger.

   I know some people have made this book out to be the weakest of the series because of the lack of Johannes in the first half of the story, but since I adore Horst I was entirely blind to the problem. Having felt for the entirety of the third book that Johannes had lost sight of the core of his initial life mission, the return of Horst to remind Johannes of his past promises gave me new hope to see progress. Well. I didn't quite recieve all that but there'll be more books. (The Fall of the House of Cabal just came out. A title not at all ominous. No, not at all. I need it.)
   I prefer this book over both the second and third parts of the series but the previous parts are vital to follow along. It's just so much more entertaining to shove someone so blantantly different from Johannes into the spotlight and make them cooperate. Force them to interact and fight for a common goal.
   Now shoo, go read it.

The process: chestpiece

My doodle - tattoo artist's sketch - end result.

Autumn darkness sucks

Today's mood is a great resounding "MEH". It was dark when I staggered half asleep off to work this morning and it was equally dark as I left... this time of year is no fun at all.

Old man Logan

DEAR FUCKING GOD I'M LOOKING FORWARD TO THIS

The Hutt Recommends: The Name of the Wind

The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss.

First of The Kingkiller Chronicles.

   The road of life has been long, winding and most arduous for Kvothe – adventurer, famous musician, arcanist and living legend - now living out his life quietly and as anonymously as possible as an innkeeper in a rural town. He's been across the world and seen many things, been hunted by demons, studied the arts of magic and swordsmanship, spent time with the fae and is even rumoured to have killed a king...

So when Chronicler is attacked by demons on the road and Kvothe saves him (which also leads to Chronicler realising just who his saviour is) he offers to put Kvothe's story on record as thanks. After some consideration, Kvothe agrees and with that our story begins.

   I really enjoyed this novel. It's a story within a story within a story, because while we're listening to a life as told by the old Kvothe, young Kvothe is chasing a completely different story - the layering is excellent. Sure, we might have heard the story before; brilliant young man becomes hero, but it's still a welcomed story and Rothfuss actually does something quite new and exciting with it despite the predictability that experienced fantasy readers might feel. It leaves you wanting for the next part of the story.

My big weakness nowadays, especially with fantasy and scifi fiction, is finding the major female characters and analyzing them to bits. In this case we have in our main girl a variation of Sexy Lamp with Manic Pixie Dream Girl syndrome. Lets be frank; I hated her. The story could have gone on without her and been better off for it. I know Kvothe would be better off without her, that's for sure.

   The novel's on the heavier side with 700+ pages so if you're not in to  that you can download it and instead listen to 40+ hours of Kvothe's adventures. In either case, I recommend it.

   With the immense success of Game of Thrones I'm very surprised that the rumours from several years ago that Kingkiller Chronicles were going to be adapted into a tv series haven't given results yet. I guess we'll just have to give them a few more years...

...just like we seem to have to give Rothfuss a few more years for the continuation of the Kingkiller Chronicles.

Feathers and bones

I've got a new tattoo!
   "Again?" I hear you mutter, and yes, again. I finally got around to putting a chestpiece on this delectable bod. Ever since I began wanting tattoos I've been hesitant about chestpieces in particular for a myriad of reasons including but not limited to that they're not as easy to hide (something I've always been very specific about wanting to be able to do) and were rumoured to hurt like a motherfucker to get done, more so than the tattoos I wanted on my legs. Put on a shirt with the least bit of a lower neckline and the ink is visible, but even I had to admit they look fantastic when well made. So when I found out one of my favourite artists on DeviantArt was also a tattoo artist I felt like it was meant to be. I made a sketch, booked a time, booked a flight to where I could find her studio (yeah, you guessed it - Warsaw) et voilà! Just about 4,5 hours under the needle and done.
It's healing up nicely now.
   And the rumours about the pain were absolutely 100% true. Hoooooly hell, did it hurt.

   Just for fun I took a stroll around the corner to Instagram Land and checked out whether or not the tattoo artist had put up any pictures of my tattoo there. It's not like she asked me if she could do it or alerted me to it, which I would have appreciated by the way since it happens to be my chest, but she's the artist so I guess it's still fair. And indeed there it was with plenty of lovely comments to go with it.
There was also a picture of her in a bastardised Native American style war bonnet. Suddenly the bit about her putting up pictures of my chestpiece without telling me didn't seem all that bad. She describes her selfie as a tribute to a beautiful headdress, knowing full well she's going to have a shit storm in the comments section about cultural appropriation, but... people have been murdered for wearing war bonnets (the real thing, not her cheap Indonesian faux crap). Millions and millions of people were murdered, raped and displaced in North America, and continue to be treated terribly today. Realising just how ignorant and disrespectful she is of Native American history kind of hurt a little because I admired her work. What makes it worse is that even after being told repeatedly by actual Native Americans about how and why it's wrong of her to use that war bonnet she admits to no wrongdoing.

   I realise it doesn't take away from how awesome my tattoo is but it makes sure I will not be returning to her studio.
   On a positive note; I have a Harry Potter-themed tattoo.

------------
EDIT:
   SHE TOOK THE PICTURE DOWN! Not the ones of my tattoo but the one with her wearing the bastardised war bonnet. Last time I checked before she took it down the comment section was starting to get a little... infected.