Sunday, 31 January 2010

Tweet of the Week.


Lady GaGa feels bad for the Bad Romance video. How fucking good is the Telephone video going to be, I'm not sure my little heart can take it!

An ode to lying in until 3 o clock in the afternoon.

I have been off University for the past two weeks (excluding going in last Tuesday for a French exam wherein I was ridiculous and answered all the questions in French when they should have been answered in English which resulted in a two-minute dash at the end of the exam where I scribbled everything out and had to do it again. Quel idiot, non?) I'm back tomorrow for actual work again. Saying that, I'm collectively in for 9 and a half hours a week over the next semester, and then I'm off for, like, months so I can't really complain that much as there are children sewing footballs for a bowl of rice and illegal immigrants having phones flung off them by Naomi Campbell for a living.

I am nonetheless filled with dread for getting up in the morning, as for the past few weeks I have taken to lying in bed watching my Friends and Weeds box-sets until the early hours of the morning and not getting up until the mid-afternoon. It will be a shame to leave this lifestyle of complete laziness and sloth behind me, but I'm only in for an hour on Mondays which means I can get myself to University and be back home and lying in bed for 12 o'clock. Fantastic stuff. God help me when I actually have to start writing news stories and assignments again.

I must say, though, it will be nice having- at the very least- a reason to leave the house every day as I must admit that, with most people being at University or on work placements or not being in the area anymore, I've been going a little bit stir crazy sitting around the house with nothing to do. Conversely, I'm not looking forward to my new Wednesday 9.00am start which means I'm going to have to start getting up at 7.00am which I know could be a lot worse blah blah blah, but it's still pretty shite.

I'm now going to cease writing as I'm watching Valkyrie and historical films are difficult enough for me to follow as it is, especially when I am half-focused on trying to find a point to the blog I have started and therefore must finish. Mind you, Tom Cruise is looking as lovely as ever in this film.


Yom.

Friday, 29 January 2010

The Silly Old Daniel Celebrity Roundup.

Welcome to the Silly Old Daniel Celebrity Roundup, where you can read this week's five biggest celebrity news stories as seen through the bitchiest eyes in the North East.

1. Are Jedward the most delusional people in the world?

No sexual tension here, folks.

As if the Queen back catalogue hasn’t taken enough of a thrashing in recent years (you know what I’m talking about...), John and Edward are releasing their cover of Under Pressure this week in a abomination collaboration with Vanilla Ice. I just think it's nice to see young people doing their bit for Help The Aged (extra kudos for that obviously goes to Justin Timberlake).


Earlier this week, journalists quizzed Jedward about future collaborations they have planned and as well as the obvious answers of Eminem and 50 Cent (obviously it's 50 Cent's music the boys are interested and nothing else) the boys responded with: "Tupac. Even though he's dead". Jedward went on to claim that there's probably an unreleased Tupac song just lying around somewhere "that we could record our vocals on". It's just a shame Tupac never got to live long enough to work with greats like John and Edward for real. Shame shame shame. (Digital Spy)


2. What the hell is wrong with Cheryl Cole's lips?


3 Words. Sack. The. Surgeon.

Cheryl Cole went out this week. Outdoors! You'd think this was a complete news story in itself (I would, at least, but then I am a homosexual from the North East), but there's more-- it seems that there was something weird going on with her face, particularly in the region of her lips. This has lead to ludicrous accusations that she's had some sort of cosmetic work done. Personally I'd say it looks more like she's had some form of allergic reaction (obviously I'm not saying she's caught anything off her skeazy husband, no one is implying that, certainly not), and I'd say that if she has had work done she needs a refund pretty quickly.


Howay though, Cheryl- Geordie lasses don't get collagen! We're sick in the street and don't wear coats at the height of Winter, but we are all-out natural gals through and through (except from our tans, obviously). Just because you stole Sharon Osbourne's seat on The X Factor doesn't mean that you too need to be made of 90% recycled materials. (Daily Mail)


3. Elton John tries in vain to prove he's still relevant. Again.


I'm still hip. I'm still 'with it.' Shall I do Candle In The Wind?

You'd be forgiven for thinking that he slags people off for a living and that's where his talents end, but Elton John is reminding us why we hate him in the first place with a rumoured performance alongside Lady GaGa at this year's Grammy Awards. Perez Hilton has already confirmed that Lady GaGa will be opening the ceremony and that she is "planning something amazing amazing AMAZING", but it's not yet been confirmed whether or not Elton will be joining her.


Elton's already reminded us he's still alive through his collaborations with Eminem and The Killers, as well as a posthumous duet alongside, who else, Tupac (eat your hearts out, Jedward), but I think getting in on the Lady GaGa thing just makes people look desperate no matter who they are, unfortunately. Why not try cracking out a new song of your own, eh Elton? (TVNZ)


4. Some awful person breaks into Susan Boyle's house.


Can I keep her? Pleeeeeeeease?

Why anyone would wish Susan Boyle any harm or distress is completely beyond me, as she is arguably the most "sound as a pound" woman on the planet, but some tit broke into her house earlier in the week. Susan was returning home from recording her part in Simon Cowell's Haiti Charity Single (because Susan Boyle cares about people and when there are natural disasters she uses her talents to help in any way she can because she is an amazing woman who deserves an OBE or MBE or NME or whatever it is someone gets to become a Dame) when she caught an intruder in her home who then fled the scene! How awful for poor Susan!!


Or not, as it turns out. Thankfully, when the incident was made public Susan issued a statement assuring everyone that she was fine and that she has no plans to move house, despite being urged to by members of her family. Good for her. She even went as far as to say: "The intruder was more scared than me". I will believe that, as I cannot imagine how harrowing the realisation he was in Susan Boyle's bedroom must have been for him. (Digital Spy)


5. The bad news keeps on coming.


RIP gang.

There is no positive spin I can put on this. Ugly Betty is no more. The fourth series, currently airing in America, will end two episodes early. And that will be that. ABC claim the show has poor ratings, and so they're pulling the plug. An awful day. Awful. No more will we follow the mad-cap adventures of Betty and Marc and Amanda- and little Justin won't get the chance to blossom into a really fabulous out-gay. The people who made this decision are obviously monsters. Monsters!!!!! (E!)


And that was the Silly Old Daniel Celebrity Roundup.

Yee-haw!

Wednesday, 27 January 2010

Gosh this soapbox is awfully high.

OK, so I have just got back from a nice catch-up with the people in this picture who are not Anna who, having the obvious hindrance of currently living in Southampton, was not invited for our excursion to McDonald's (unluckily for her she missed the obvious treat of being driven around by Sophie):

Another otherwise acceptable photo ruined by me.

Now then, a long time ago I did this liberating thing known colloquially as "stopping giving a shit about everything". I had this epiphany and realised that no matter what I do or say or wear, I am always going to stick out like a sore thumb. Not that I am particularly special or worth looking at or anything, but that is just how it goes. In recent times this has led to me becoming a self-fulfilled prophecy who has no regard for those around him because, regardless of whether or not I cared, I was still going to come away with passers by rolling their eyes at me.

Examples? I got on the metro at Fellgate this afternoon and, it being the middle of the day, it was full of pensioners heading up to Sunderland to shuffle slowly around the Bridges and wait hopefully for death to end their miserable lives. So I get onto this metro, smiling at everyone in a vain attempt to make them forget the fact that their lives are nothing more than an excruciating crawl towards death, and get nothing but the stink-eye back. From pensioners! You know you've hit the bottom rung of the social ladder when you can't even raise a smile from a man in a flat-cap with a packet of Werther's Originals poking out of his pocket. Even the old women were looking at me as if I'd trawled onto the metro with dynamite strapped to my chest, but frankly this is something of a blessing as I'd hate to be one of those gays that nanas like (see Exhibit A and Exhibits B and C for examples EXCEPT OBVIOUSLY ONLY ONE OF THESE IS REALLY A BENDER JUST A SPOT OF LIGHT-HEARTED BANTER THERE HARDY HAR).

I don't know if it's a generational "oh the old people don't like young people with a spring in their step" or "oh the old people probably think you're going to beat them up, take their belongings and leave them a bleeding pulp in the corner of the metro" or "oh the old people don't like the gays" thing, but the fact of the matter is I don't like old people. They smell of piss and move too slowly, they aren't pleasant to look at and don't know anything about important social issues like whether or not Lady GaGa has a cock. However, when I'm sharing an enclosed space such as a metro carriage with them I manage to remain polite and civil with them, smiling at them what catch my eye and generally going about my merry way as if I'm not disgusted by them.

The same goes for disgusting chav-types. Given the choice, yes, I would much rather be anywhere in the world but cooked up with someone holding a carrier bag full of cheap lager in one hand while they carelessly adjust their balls with the other, only to phlegm on the floor and say something offensive about having sex with a member of my family. This does not mean it is my mission to drive them from whatever place we happen to both be in, I would happily go about my day without having any dealings with them.

I only say this because, sitting in McDonald's earlier, my ever-observant friend Sophie pointed out that two arses near us were listening in intently to my conversation and taking the piss out of everything I was saying. I cannot blame anyone for this, first off, I appreciate my mannerisms and appearance and voice generally conjure up some sort of Little Britain-esque character, but unfortunately underneath it all this is genuinely just how I am. Sad, but true.

"OI! EXCUSE ME!" one of them called over. Now, being the only flamboyant homosexual at my bar in the Sunderland Greyhound Stadium has taught me many things in the short length of time I have been there, the main one being that if someone subtly tries to get your attention by saying "excuse me" in a polite voice probably means they have some sort of enquiry they want you to deal with. When someone hollers "excuse me" from a grave distance, attracting attention from everyone in the vicinity when still obviously only addressing you, the chances are you are about to have the piss ripped out of you 10 times worse than some angry pensioner on the bus can do just by staring at you.

"OI! EXCUSE ME-- ARE YOU GAY?" he demanded, agog, while I looked for a big hole to hide in. It's one thing being harassed when I'm on a night out dressed like this or this, but when I'm tucking into a mayo chicken in a relatively dressed-down little number I don't particularly need to be hollered at by ASBOs in the corner of a room. Regrettably, I was caught off-guard and didn't want to give my standard response of "fuck off and die" because there were children dining (plus this would make me lose face by being the first to use foul language), so I gave no reply and simply went back to my chicken burger, which did indeed make up for most of the embarrassment because the Mayo chicken sandwich combines my two favourite things in the form of chicken and mayonnaise, plus it's only 99p which incorporates my third favourite thing of cheap stuff.

"What a fucking faggot," the other one said, not to me but loud enough so that I, and everyone else in the McDonalds could hear. Is there any need for that? I'm having a nice catch-up with my friends who I haven't seen in forever, and here's you slagging me off so that a whole restaurant is judging you, judging me and thinking what a pussy I am for not standing up for myself.

I'm not normally a preachy gay, preachy gays make me heave. I don't think the world owes me anything for making me turn into such a raging homosexual. I do have a sense of humour about these things, and am usually the first to rip the piss out of myself for my stereotypically gay tendencies, but come along now. I'm not performing fellatio on anyone in front of you, I'm not talking about Barabara Streisand and I'm not snorting poppers in front of you, I'm telling my friends from school a story, there's really no need for strangers to pass comment on that.

And so the moral of the story is, next time you feel like taking the piss out of someone in a fast-food restaurant, remember the last time a pensioner looked disapprovingly at you for no reason and perhaps you will think twice. And if that doesn't change your mind, please fuck off and die. There, I got to say it after all.

Monday, 25 January 2010

Catherine and Daniel Could Write A Bad Romance.


Now then. Why was there an umbrella?

I appreciate that my blogging has been a bit lacklustre as of late, but this is still a new blog so bear with me, let me get back into the swing of things. Catherine came over on Friday night and we took some funny videos on Photo Booth with the intention of putting them on this very blog. Unfortunately, watching them back they are too embarrassing (not to mention somewhat offensive) to actually put on YouTube. This was largely due to an unintentionally large amount of vodka happy Cosmopolitans and rosé wine consumed over the course of the evening, which culminated in me eventually throwing up all over my bathroom floor.

And so, rather than showing you aforementioned videos, here are some snapshots from them until I can get over the embarrassment. Evidently there was something of a Bad Romance theme over the course of the evening:







Fun times. However, this fun was contrasted later during the previously mentioned sick incident, which has forced me into the decision that in the future I am going to cut down on the drinking, because there is nothing attractive about someone who gets pissed, makes an idiot of themselves and then projectile vomits everywhere, and I do not want to be one of those people.

Tomorrow I'm going into Sunderland to buy tickets for Jimmy Carr and The Rocky Horror Show (fuck me, imagine those two together. What a combo). Tickets for P!nk at the Stadium of Light are also being released on Friday, so perhaps there is some hope for places like Sunderland after all. I wonder how long before people start adding The Customs House to their national tours...

Wednesday, 20 January 2010

New hair.

I had my haircut, and now one side of my head is shaved! Here's a picture on my Mac's webcam: (original photo replaced with this completely posed one because I looked about 14 in the original)

And now, for those of you who can't go on a Mac without dicking about with the webcam (Windows users and teenagers) here is a warped picture of me:

*performs I Dreamed A Dream*

And here's what I'd look like underwater:

That last one is obviously a joke as I'm trying not to get my hair wet for as long as is humanly possible.

I'm sure you'll agree that this is not a Mika-esque haircut. This did not stop someone on the metro singing Big Girl (You Are Beautiful) at me as I got off the metro. I thought I was going to cry. Of course, this was probably just karma as I'd just been commenting to Catherine how much he looked like Frankmusik.

Catherine: He was probably just commenting that I'm a big girl.

Indeed.

Sunday, 17 January 2010

They say they wish to cure us, but I say to you, we are the cure.

Welcome to 2010. Women have the vote, gays can take each other down the aisle and hosts of multi-racial people are flocking into the streets, holding hands and singing "Who Will Buy This Wonderful Morning" from Oliver, kicking their heels as they go. Acceptance and tolerance- what a time to be alive.

Adolf and Eva 2.0

Why then, when watching the TV the other day, was I greeted with the message "If you're single you should know about eHarmony". Brutal! No "you might like to know about eHarmony", no compliment first to cushion the blow, no option about it. They went straight in for the kill:

"If you're single, you should know about eHarmony". As if eHarmony can cure the unfortunate and unsightly malady that single people have unknowingly found themselves riddled with.

"You're single?? I assume you're cripplingly lonely, just look at yourself. Don't worry, give all your money to a website and we'll randomly select a social recluse who also can't find a match in the real world to waste the next six months of your life infatuated with."

"Well I can see there's no someone special in your life, you should allow yourself to be degradingly judged by a team of online losers with standards too high to actually go out and look for someone, because nothing says romance like sheepishly showing your genitals to someone you barely know on your third MSN webcam conversation only for them to realise your flaws and three weeks later send screenshots of your peepshow to all their friends."

"Single, is it?? Don't worry, eHarmony have a cream for that."

Now, I am not condemning Internet dating, I did have that Gaydar flutter myself last year (I did, however, originally think it was the gay equivalent of Facebook. It was only when I realised I was filling in "circumsised or uncircumsised" on my profile and having middle-aged men sending me pictures of their erections that I realised it was perhaps not as wholesome as I'd initially thought), but I don't agree with it being there to make people think that, because it is now so simple for a computer to find an online partner for you, people now have no excuse not to be seeing anyone.

Why, oh why, oh why is it so hard for people to understand that there are worse things in the world than being single?? I know that I'm not always completely happy being single, but then people in relationships aren't exactly happy around the clock either. For me, being single means being able to do what you want and not needing to worry about upsetting someone else. Being single means staying out as late as you want with whoever you want. Being single means being happy in yourself, and not constantly worrying about anyone else. And at the end of the day, which of these songs is more likely to get you running to the dance floor...?


I rest my case.

Thursday, 14 January 2010

I Wish It Could Be Monday Everyday.

I have been back at Uni for four days now. Except, as it turns out, I didn't have any lectures today or on Monday. So of the four days that have passed since the start of the term, I have only had lectures on two of them. And yet, I am already sick to death of it and mourning a time when I could go out on a night and sleep off my hangover until 3 in the afternoon, which in itself is ridiculous because Catherine and I went to Powerhouse on Monday night, despite having an exam the next day.

Attractive.

So really, if truth be told, all that I am particularly missing is a time when I could say "I have ages until this deadline" and put off doing the actual work that comes along with the so-called "student experience", but unfortunately I have arrived at the time when my deadline is tomorrow and I can no longer afford to waste time updating my Facebook and making myself cups of pear tea. I have to actually do some work.

What's annoying me most, though, is not the work itself but the fact that the work I'm doing is completely pointless. Things like my French portfolio or my Journalism Critical Evaluation (which, if we're being honest, I don't wholly understand) aren't actually contributing to my life in any useful way, they are not giving me any life skills and they simply make me resent University even more than I already do, which stresses me out and means I have to do things like spending an entire evening on Facebook, putting The Fame Monster on just to calm myself, or writing blogs like I currently am.

And so, rather than finishing this news story about people getting pissed and ruining the reputation of the North East of England over Christmas I am going to bask in the events of Monday night highlights of which included:
  • Starting off an Avril Lavigne singalong in a chip shop.
  • Coming back from the toilet to find Catherine in the smoking area with lesbians circling around her.
  • (Bizarrely) Uttering the phrase "no, no, rape is not the way to go" to a confused lesbian in the toilet.
  • Bad Romance (understandably) being on in every single place we went to.
  • Seeing the world and his wife.
  • Following Catherine into the toilets every two seconds.
  • Apparently being strangled by a handsome stranger:
  • Catherine hollering "HOT SHOT MAN!!" at the topless man selling Apple Sourz every time she required some.
And highlights of which did not include:
  • Depressingly telling Catherine at the end of the night "I AM SO HIDEOUS", thus casting a shadow over the fun we'd had until this point.
Aside from an overly emotional (drunken) finish, which was soon resolved post-singalong, it was a very enjoyable evening.

Obviously having fun-- I'm almost smiling.

And now my loves, I must finish the news story I am writing for my assignment. As I am such a devoted Journalist, this story features interviews with top names including my sister, my supervisor at the Dogs and- best of all- someone my mam knows who was in a bar where there was a fight on New Year's Eve (even though she didn't actually see it for herself).

Flashfoward 30 years and I will obviously be Piers Morgan 2.0.

Tuesday, 12 January 2010

2010...

I don't want to turn this blog into an exposé where I talk frankly about personal things and make everyone cringe a little bit for my lack of respect for my own private life. I respect also that there were only a handful of people continuing to read the kiss-Lady-GaGa's-arse spectacular that I called my beloved previous blog and more power to you I say, because it had become an absolute pile of complete and utter wank. And why is that? Because that is exactly what my life has become (not strictly true, but we'll continue in this manner for the sake of this particular blog which has already got you reading this far).

I went out with Katie on Friday night and already broke my one and only New Year's Resolution for 2010 (stop getting off with people I'm not interested in at Powerhouse) when we went to Powerhouse and I got off with not one but three people I couldn't tell you the first thing about. It is too late to claim this remains a New Year's Resolution because I broke it on Day 8 of 2010. This is, admittedly, a disgrace. So I am going to pretend that the last 10 days of my life were a dry run for 2010 and tomorrow, when I head back into the reality of Sunderland Uni for the first time since before Christmas (*Sigh* remember Christmas? Feels like ages ago, innit? Shame we've still got the bloody snow but never mind, eh?) I am going to be a changed man.

ACTUALLY GENUINE NEW YEARS RESOLUTIONS THAT I WILL GET THROUGH IN THE YEAR 2010

1. For every time I write something upon this, or any, blog about a celebrity, I will write something about myself. It is filler, and I am not doing MAC136 like the other people who aren't doing a Combined Subjects degree and I need the practice at writing otherwise I will be even more likely to finish this course and end up with no job.

2. I will pass my driving test. This means that when my instructor is telling me how to do something, a three-point turn, for example I will listen intently. I will not switch off mid-explanation and start thinking about, for example, which producers Madonna will get in for her new album (probably Paul Oakenfold and David Guetta, I'm praying she stays away from RedOne because if she doesn't she'll become just as predictable as everyone else in the music industry and that, my friends, will be a sad day) only to tune back in just as he says "any questions" and I'm left to admit to him, sheepishly, that I was not listening and will need the entire demonstration again. This is not good.

3. I will stop being so horrible to my customers at the dog track. They walk in, innocently wanting a pint, and I am horrible to them almost immediately, rolling my eyes and swearing under my breathe as if I'd been working there for the past 20 years of my life. Conversely, I will stop taking shit from drunken idiots taking the piss out of me just because I am a faggot.

4. I will stop shouting randomly at my parents, even though this is, admittedly, the way we all speak to each other in this house.

5. Each time I think to myself "Uni is shit", "I want to drop out of University", "I'm fucking sick of Uni" or "University? What a load of old shite" I will picture this image in my mind...

...and it will remind me of what is important and what is not important, and that sometimes you have to actually work to get the things you want which is a sad truth but something we all have to come to terms with at some point or another. More importantly, I will become more studious and put my all into every article and feature I write from this point on. I will also stop arseing about and actually do some work for French.

6. I will stop slagging everyone off just for the sake of hearing my own voice. It is not the way to gain people's trust, is it? And usually people have done nothing wrong, have they? Perhaps it does make people laugh to take the piss out of someone for the sole reason that they haven't bothered themselves to be there, then make a vast list of their irrelevant faults. As far as I am concerned, from the moment I click "publish post" everyone is starting afresh with a blank slate and if you are one of the, literally, hundreds of people that I have slagged off over my relatively short life than I am very sorry. Feel free to make fun of my enormous chin next time I am not there.

Do you know what? It's only been 10 days, fuck it...

7. I WILL STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP getting off with anyone that I am not interested in. I've hardly been a slag in the past, waking up in bed with two illegal immigrants I don't even remember the names let alone the nationalities of, or anything drastic like that. But this...

...really is not the way to go on, is it? The boy in the glasses is really not one you would take home to meet your mother, is he? He is off his face and he is easy. And those are two ideas of me that I do not want people to have because, on the contrary to the drunken version of Daniel everyone holds close to their hearts, I am an old-fashioned boy with old-fashioned values. Behind my stupid fringe thing and DM boots there is someone just waiting to be loved (I say "waiting" because I am truly in no hurry). I am a big believer in monogamy and fidelity and long-term relationships and all that shite.

However, I am hardly wearing these ideals on my sleeve getting off with every Tom, Dick (steady on) and Harry (OK, not every Tom, Dick and Harry perhaps I am overestimating my own pulling skills there) shaking their arses to Telephone under the shining disco balls of Powerhouse. I'm hoping (secretly, though, don't tell anyone) that this might be the year for a grand romance, so perhaps a slight change in lifestyle might be the thing.

And so- here's to the next 12 months, and let's see how long this new-found studious and moral way of life lasts. Of course, judging by the fact that Catherine's taking me to Powerhouse tonight (the night before our French oral I might add), my guess is not as long as I might have hoped...

Monday, 11 January 2010

Brand spanking new blog.

Hello, bitches. My name is Daniel. You may have read my old blog here, but truth be told it became a bit shite (admittedly due to my own lack of interest in it) so I decided that 2010 would be a brand new year and a brand new blog. For those who aren't yet up to speed, here's a brief summary of me.

1. My name is Daniel. I am 18 and I live in Hebburn. I used to tell people I was from Newcastle, but now that I'm better acquainted with people from Newcastle I can no longer get away with that blatant lie.

2. I am sing-sing-single and gay-gay-gay. This is, basically, an enthusiastic version of being single and gay.

3. I'm studying Journalism and French at Sunderland University at the moment. Some would say this was a waste of time as I will graduate without an NCTJ qualification. I would be one of those people.

4. I work behind the bar at the Sunderland Dogs. I'd say "come and say hello to me if ever you're in", but I'm usually so grouchy when I'm there that you'd be lucky to escape the experience without me throwing a pint of Carlsberg Cold in your face.

5. Britney Spears is my idol for the sole reason that she is, in my eyes, the Patron Saint of Crazy Bitches. I, myself, am a sufferer of Crazy Bitch Syndrome. There is no known cure.

6. My friends are very important to me. We go to Nando's and Coffee Trader and it is lovely. We also go out and get abundantly drunk. This is also lovely.

Keep reading, though, yes? Sometimes I'm funny. Other times I'm the lad you laugh at to be polite. Or just to shut up.
:)