Tag Archive: Corpse Bride


So I settled on my Hallowe’en costume after much agonising because that’s what I do when I want to dress up. I agonise. For a long time.

And so I will enter the revelry dressed as a Filthy Victorian. For those of you unfamilliar with the term as a name of sorts, it sounds like what you think it might be: a Victorian who is filthy. Except not in an urchin-type manner, oh no – think filthy nobility. Marquis de Sade on something stronger. Anachronism alert. I think too much about costumes. I’m madly tired and awake at the same time.

And, for those of you unfamiliar with the term as a name of sorts, it comes from the lovely Emilie Autumn, a singer to whom a close friend introduced me a couple of years back. I’ve posted some of her work up here before. A family friend commented that she sounds like what Kate Bush might have been today. She plays harpsichord, electric violin, plenty of other delightful-sounding instruments, sings alternately like an angel and a banshee, and describes her brand of songitude as Victoriandustrial. Amused, I have always been. She’s totally nuts as well, which is always a perk.

Here is the song that will be stuck in my head for the rest of the day thanks to my dedication to make you listen to what I listen to:

I think the inspiration came partly from watching Corpse Bride too; I love that film entirely too much.

So I bought a long black skirt and four metres of emerald and black organza and will attempt to make a Victorian-bustle-thing-of-sorts this week. And lace gloves. I won’t make these, I have already bought them. And a fascinator. When I become rich I will buy ridiculous things like this all the time and spend my days rolling in velvet wearing Elizabethan ruffs and monocles. I may invite you to join me for sweet tea.

I saw Up yesterday with two of my delightful friends and though I am not about to review the whole thing I need to say that a) dogs that sound like Foamy the Squirrel make me cry with laughter and b) finding out that animated characters are infertile is intensely heartbreaking. When I first saw the trailer I wasn’t particularly thrilled, mainly because I’m neutral towards Pixar in general, but if you’re having doubts like I had doubts, forget them and go to the cinema. Go and see Up, obviously, not just any random film.

My Southampton accent has gone away! This is because I have spent lots of time in the company of people who speak rather beautifully. The life of the wife is ended by the knife!


Beautiful.

The websites I really really like today are…

Music Map – find out similar-sounding artists to the ones you like, a lifesaver if you like relatively obscure stuff and trawling through garbage on YouTube isn’t something you want to spend your spare time on. Like Last.fm’s facility but far simpler visually.

Jelly Towers – so my brother introduced me to the parent website and now I’m hooked. Jelly Towers involves feeding jelly cubes to “Jydras” (basically sugar-junkie hydras) using simple balancing methods. It’s meant for younger children than I. But can I do it? Can I fuck. It’s one of THE most frustrating games I have ever stumbled across. Those fucking jelly cubes only have to take a slight knocking to make them fly everywhere. Irritation in game form can now be yours.

How to make ruffles is a skill everybody should learn. Ruffles are sexy.

You didn’t fully believe me when I said Emilie Autumn is totally nuts, did you?
NOW YOU WILL.

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Filler post is fun.

LOL:

Lord Bill Ptolemy Pythagoras (and Non-Lizard Mother):
Picture 970

Also I have a face of an otter in disgrace. I have an essay due in next week ARGH. And that, that is all.

My head has been in a very strange place for the past few days.

I suspect its position was determined by temporary hormone stews.

Truth is, I do not want to shun human company entirely. And my more astute readers will have interpreted my bitter previous post to mean the following: there IS someone I know who I would dearly,dearly love to accompany me on romantic and sexy adventures in which we pretend to be pirates. But enough of that, or you’ll think I’m sentimental. And also, I fear the person to whom this refers will read this and use it to his advantage; not that he WOULD, he’s far too nice, but still. I can’t help thinking it.

Nevertheless, the location of my head head has been restabilised by several things – I got another helix piercing, just above my first one (and piercings seem to boost my confidence, so I’d like a couple more, but only around my ears. I can’t abide the idea of needles near my torso/anywhere else.); I watched Corpse Bride, M and Secretary in quick succession today; and I’ve fully settled into the new house. Oh, and I’ve started playing Fable II. Yessir.

Oh, and, um, I just watched Galaxy Quest. Alan Rickman is The Man.

Rickers, ensconced in velvet for both our delectation. Nom.

…the fanfags of Burton’s Alice in Wonderland update. Just go on the IMDb board for it. Go on, I dare you. You have to try and read all the posts without sinking into a violent fantasy world in which you’re dismembering the scene kiddies with hot pliers, minus anaesthetic and a valid surgery qualification of any sort. Please let me know if you’re successful in this, because I sure as hell wasn’t.

She loves Lewis Carroll so much.

I shouldn’t hate these little darlings for wanting to discuss their absolute favourite thing in the world, should I? They’re just expressing their opinion about it. And arguing with each other over it. And ejaculating over their favourite actors in plain view of the rest of the internet and oh Jesus, you know what? Sod freedom of speech or whatever, somebody gag these children and lock them in their bedrooms with some intelligent books – some Shakespeare, some Wilde, some Gaiman, Clare, Allende, Banks, Sebold – until they’ve safely passed puberty and can contribute to society without trying overly hard to be “dark” and “different.”

The pen is mightier than the Paramore, you know.

(Unfortunately, some may remain dark little bunnies into adulthood. Case in point is, unluckily, me. Although I should point out that this isn’t due to overdosing on Tim Burton, not like these disgusting little worms [I like ‘Corpse Bride’, just not a great wanky amount]. It’s due to the five-plus years of physical and emotional bullying I endured in my formative years, coupled with the fact I was an overweight, acne-ridden, bespectacled child with braces. You couldn’t make up a character to rival how awkward and nerdy I was. And being cornered by a boy three years older and repeatedly whipped with an elastic band doesn’t really make little girls into happy adults who openly embrace attention and affection from the opposite sex.)

Women who post birth videos on YouTube.

Apparently, this is a popular trend now.

Erm…

What the fuck?

Why would you expose yourself in that manner TO THE WORLD? What’s WRONG with these fruitcakes? What possesses them? What makes them think, “OOH, you know what the internets will love? My mucus-covered black hole of a vagina!”? These women need to be told that, look, YOU think birth is a wonderful, sensuous, beautiful process; some of us (i.e., ME ONCE AGAIN) do NOT. In fact, we feel sick when you lumber towards us, doing a brilliant impression of Jupiter, whilst we’re trying to eat, and then you and your…spawn-in-progess lounge in plain view while I attempt not to projectile vomit at your swollen feet. I don’t want to see your livid stretch-marks. I don’t want to hear about your overwrought bladder. I certainly do not want to witness your brat slithering out into the world whilst you bellow like a heifer before snotting all over your hospital-issue gown because you’re so emotional.

“Don’t search for the videos, then!” I fear they’ll cheerfully tell me, should I be unfortunate enough to enter into conversation with these breeding cretins.

No.

DON’T POST THE DISGUSTING THINGS IN THE FIRST PLACE, say I in this hypothetical exchange. Keep it behind closed doors. You know, like a normal human being! That way, you’ll only have to pay for your husband’s therapy. Cheers.

…I’m actually too angry to write anymore. O world, you’re full of lovely individuals!