How can Saturday come round so quickly? It gets quicker every week. I think someone might be stealing a day or two here and there to extend their own life. Because mine is whizzing by too fast.
I measure my life in Guardian Weekend magazines. When I pick up this week's Guardian and turn to the magazine that is the point where I think, "Fuck, another week gone. How did that happen?" In the old days it used to be Sunday Times Culture sections, but I don't buy the Sunday papers much any more. And the Guardian Weekends are coming up much quicker than the Sunday Times Culture sections used to back in Balham.
How many more Guardian Weekend magazines will I live to see? Perhaps I will live longer than the magazine, as it is surely likely to be lost in some format reshuffle in the future. But maybe I will go first. Who knows?
All I can be sure of is that every week passes quicker than that last and it just definitely isn't seven days since I last looked at the Scrabble game on the puzzle page and wished that the compiler would come up with a scenario that might just possibly happen in an actual game.
Time flies by so fast and you shouldn't waste a second, which is why it is hard to justify the fact that I spent most of my afternoon watching
"I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry," possibly one of the worst conceived movies of all time. Yet strangely entrancing for all its rubbishness. My friend Sarah Kendall had been describing what a car crash it is, given that it seems to be attempting to advocating gay rights, whilst at the same time being full of stereotypes and homophobic jokes about soap dropped in the shower - which you might get away with arguing come from homophobic characters who eventually kind of realise the error of their ways. But it's a mess.
And it's harder to justify the awful Asian caricature played by the awful Rob Schneider, which seems not to have the vaguest hint of irony attached to it. No wonder he is uncredited in the film.
In a sense the film would be almost less offensive if it didn't attempt to have its cock and eat it, but the fact it clearly sees itself as a beacon for gay rights gives it an unpleasant veneer. It's also trying to hold a flag up for the brave fire fighters and cash in on their 911 heroism. But I don't think the firefighters come out of this one very well, unless they really are all homophobes because they are repressed homosexuals.
And how could Steve Buscemi let himself appear in? Oh Steve, why hast thou forsaken me?
I couldn't look away though and had to see it through to its terrible end. And it wasted two more of those ever quickening hours to the next Guardian Weekend magazine.
