Plan 9? Ah, plan 9 involves the resurrection of the dead.

[raven]

I've been a bit depressed, the last few days - not enough to panic but enough to worry, especially as I was getting quiet in social situations (you know, when it goes quiet in your head all of a sudden, and everything's grey and tasteless) and lying in bed at night with my head going round in self-loathing circles. But yesterday and today have been better again, although last night, I was meant to go over to vampire_kitten's at Magdalen for May Morning, but I went for a nap at three and instead of waking up at five, as planned, opened my eyes at ten o'clock and had to dash to a tute. Still tired, though; I had a nap this afternoon and was still tired after it. I'm exhausted and I don't know why - it's only second week, or at least, that's the theory.

Last night, Claire, Ben and I watched Plan 9 From Outer Space. Everyone should watch it. It is the best movie of all time. "The great thing about it," I said after some wine and thus horizontal on Claire's bed, "is that it's not just the effects that are bad. The acting is bad. The writing is bad."

"The editing is bad," Claire said. "The continuity is bad. The dialogue is bad. The characterisation is bad."

"And," said Ben, whimpering into a pillow, "the physics is bad."

How to describe Plan 9 to the uninitiated? It's a film that was originally called Grave Robbers From Outer Space, features a psychic called Criswell as the narrator and doesn't star Bela Lugosi. Bela Lugosi died before filming started, so they spliced in some stock footage of him and for all the rest of his scenes, used the director's wife's chiropracter, who looks nothing like him and hides this fact by hiding his face behind a cloak. There are gravestones made of cardboard, that fall over. There are scenes where characters run from night indo day and back again. There are policeman who nonchantly hold their guns pointing at themselves. There is an alien called Eros, which I feel needs to be pointed out more than once. There is an alien called Eros, who looks like a fat white man in a sparkly jacket.

And then there is the dialogue. My favourite is Criswell, narrating: "We are all interested in the future, for that is where you and I are going to spend the rest of our lives. And remember my friend, future events such as these will affect you in the future."

Later: "At the funeral of the old man, unknown to his mourners, his DEAD WIFE was watching!"

Claire's favourite, from the chief of police: "Then they attacked a town, a small town I'll admit, but nevertheless a town of people. People... who died."

(Never has small-scale genocide been so hysterically, rolling-off-bed funny.)

And the bit that had Ben rocking back and forth, the aliens attempt to send a message to Earth: "Atmospheric conditions in outer space often interfere with transmitting!"

I could do this all day, but I'll try not to. Suffice it to say, this is a public domain film, so you have no excuse not to watch it.

Today, I think I've been putting my brain back together a wee bit. The tute, which was about syntactic mental representation, was really very good - my Mind tutor (whom kuteki has for knowledge and reality - I walked into her tute, this time round) is very laidback and nice, but alas, does look like Sam Vimes - and after that, I wandered around the city, did no work, took a nap and played cricket on the Master's Field. We played until the dying of the light, flinging balls at the nets whilst avoiding the basketball players and whistling for the groundsman's dog to do the fielding. (Which she does.)

As I keep on saying, Trinity can be, and right now is, utterly idyllic - how many people, I wonder, can spend these gorgeous, warm summer days playing cricket, wandering barefoot through the sunlit city, reading about philosophy and politics, being fannish, being geeky, living surrounded by fresh flowers, tulips and wisteria, being taught to think like a philosopher out in the gardens?

So I'm happy. Yeah, I am, I think. I hope so. Tomorrow I have to go to Heathrow at five am - urrrgh - because my cousin, whom I was with in Connecticut, is coming to Britain for an interview at King's London, which if she gets through, will mean she'll be here for the whole of my last year at Oxford, and that would be just marvellous; I've never had family in the same country as me before, and I'd love that. Anyway. I need to go to bed, because I have to get up in six hours - groan - and to all a good night, I think.