300: 300, poetry, and... where was I?

Thursday; Thor’s Day.  Daily blog number 300; legendarily the number of Spartans that faced the mighty Persian army at the battle of Thermopylae.  To me 300 seems like a milestone, an important event to celebrate, but predictably my chips were pissed on.  Apparently 300 doesn’t count as anything; it’s the 365 that I should be looking out for.  I don’t know which is more arbitrary, centuries or complete orbits of the sun.  What do you think?

Fortunately for everyone involved I haven’t read the Frank Miller graphic novel 300, and nor can I remember much about the film (other than its general unexceptional shittiness).  It was directed by Zack Snyder who nailed it when he directed Watchmen, so maybe I’ll give it a second chance one day.  If I had read it then some sarcastic pseudo-analogy would surely become the tenuous pretence for this post.  As it is I’ll barely mention it.  I won’t be going on and on about it in a lame effort to pretend I’m not going on about it.

300.

What was the name of that comic you have never read, which also spawned a film you didn’t really like directed by the guy who later made Watchmen which you loved?  Oh, you mean 300.  Yes that’s the one.  300.

Snore.

Apart from doing what I’m doing, what else will I be doing?  After I’ve finished writing this crap and leeching off BLANKSPACE’s internet (or even if I don’t get this finished), I’m going to pop down to greenroom for Freed Up (“Manchester’s friendliest open-mic nights for new poetry & spoken word”, with a shit MySpace thing as their website).  It is the last one to be hosted at greenroom before its imminent closure.  It’s also the first one I’ve ever attended.  I am going because two of my friends are performing, both talent poets.  I’m not really sure about what constitutes good poetry, but I know what I like, and cliché cliché cliché.  Funny and clever and free from cliché; that’s all I want.

The compères were an amusing double act that reminded me of David Walliams and Matt Lucas, especially when they are out of character and bantering. Dominic Berry and Steve O’Connor; it was extremely amusing and I hope the event can find a new home soon.  Dominic did a funny skit with a magic kettle or something.  Erm... it was good; I liked it.  Sometimes it rhymed.

I’m loosely involved in a little project to make some performance videos of a poet friend of mine; he has ambitions of performing at Glastonbury et al, and requires moving pictures for his curriculum vitae.  So as a little act of research into the genre of performance poetry video, here is Dominic Berry, Kevin Eldon and Simon Munnery (which is kind of like weird poetry stand-up something).