miscellany

[raven]

First of all: Humphrey Lyttelton is dead. He was eighty-six years old, but as people have already said, he was the sort of man who was supposed to live forever. Last night we were listening to old episodes of I'm Sorry I Haven't A Clue, and laughing quietly and affectionately at dreadful puns -

(From what I'm listening to at the moment: "Knacker's yard" defined as "enormous underpants"; "palmistry" defined as "not knowing who your dad is" and "defunct" as "having one's sense of rhythm removed". I love ISIHAC so, so much.)

- and at the Rolling Stones' Satisfaction sung to the tune of Carmina Burana. Hurrah for Humph. May he wander through the afterlife blowing a cheerful trumpet.

Second of all: I have been in a gloomy, treacly mood for a couple of days, mostly characterised by a total disinclination to engage with the human race. Also by quasi-hysterical rage at the stupid people on the internet. I mention this to just account for my failure to be, you know, sane, or indeed, remotely nice to be around. Finals have this effect of taking up all your day's sanity-spoons so if anything else comes up, anything else about which you might reasonably be expected to show moderation and restraint, you just... can't. Instead you feel it all at hundred-decibel intensity and seethe and rage and shriek. For this reason, I am not linking to the things which are currently making me angry.

Okay, but I will have just one brief rant and then I will shut up. Er. Philosophy is an academic subject. I am oversensitive about it because I am about to sit Final Honour Schools in it, but this rant does hold all the time. It's an academic subject in itself. It has its own norms, mores and terms of art. It has a methodology. You cannot write emo ruminations on the nature of the word "soulmate" and call it philosophy. You cannot make assumptions about Plato's thwarted career-as-epic-tragedian and call it philosophy. Note that I am not saying you can't do these things. All I am saying is that you cannot do them as philosophy. The bad poets of the world should get their grubby fingers off my subject. Thank you kindly. We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

Third of all, and the actual point of this post. remixredux08 is over, and the reveal happened, oh, all of twenty minutes ago but let me face facts, I have no life.

I wrote: thirteen photographs (the via crucis remix)), a remix of train de la grande vitesse, by glass_icarus.

My brain is too fried to provide much in the way of substantial comment on the process, except that it was, as usual, marvellous fun. The original this time around was all of 521 words long, so it was more in the way of drabble expansion, using the themes of the original rather then the plot, if that makes sense and really at this stage I'm not entirely sure anything I say does, so. But. Yes. Marvellous fun. likethesun2 and absinthe_shadow guessed, exactly as they did last year, because I am distressingly predictable.

Ficlets and such to be distributed post-Finals. Hurrah for Finals, etc.

Comments

[brewsternorth.livejournal.com]

Not in the (brief) history of my LJ have I laughed so much at a eulogy. Humph will indeed be missed. Thank goodness for the ISIHAC reruns, and indeed the legacy he bequeaths to the Beeb.

Ug, Finals, I remember them well. Oy. (offers hugs as and when required)

[loneraven.livejournal.com]

Aww, thanks, my dear. :) And ISIHAC is keeping me sane at the moment! It's so great.

[likethesun2.livejournal.com]

You're not distressingly predictable! Unless distressingly predictable = predictably good.

Oh god what I am even typing. I'll come back when sober? Hi champagne.

[loneraven.livejournal.com]

Leigh! *big, squishy hugs* Are you still drunk? You'd better be. :P

[cscottd.livejournal.com]

I have many fond memories of listening to I'm Sorry I Haven't A Clue.