Martin Freeman attends Fargo screening in NYC, April 9 2014.
new tab for high res.
Some days I ask myself “What am I doing with my life?” and then there are days when a post like this kindly provides an answer.
"Oh right, I’m watching Martin Freeman’s hair as it grays."
poop sketch of a Victorian Sherlock
(inspired by this post)
Boy meets girl. Girls realises boy exists when the subject of Harry Potter comes up.Girl falls in love with boy. Boy asks girl out. Girl freaks out, says “no! I don’t wanna ruin our friendship”. Boy ignores girl. Girl misses her friend boy. Now girl and boy are best friends, everyone thinks they’re dating.Boy asks girl to a dance, girl says no thank you, I’m a strong independent woman, I don’t need a date. Boy shyly asks girl to dance. Girl and boy shuffle awkwardly on the dance floor. Everyone else on planet earth sighs. Girl and boy go to university on separate continents. Boy texts girl, a lot. Girl always texts back. Among all the talk of Holmes and Watson, boy somehow always manages to call girl brilliant and beautiful and unique. Girl begrudgingly admits that when she achieves world domination, she’ll kill him first, because she can’t stand to watch him lead the rebellion. Boy knows, maybe. Girl thinks boy is a manipulative bastard. Girl can’t go to the Wizarding World in Orlando. Boy doesn’t go. Girl is pining. Boy doesn’t go home for summer. Girl goes home for Christmas. Boy invites girl to his sister’s wedding. Girl can tell boy doesn’t care about IMAX, or like the Hobbit. Boy gets on a plane. Girl gets on a plane. Girl is pining. Boy knows. maybe.
Seriously guys, if I ever start getting a huge (huge) ego, give me a nudge, will you? Remind me to be a bit humble.
Confidence is sexy, but not if you start thinking your God’s gift to fandom.
"Watson, if it should ever strike you that I am getting overconfident in my powers, or giving less pains to a case than it deserves, kindly whisper Norbury in my ear and I shall be infinitely obliged to you." - The Adventure of the Yellow Face.
Subconsciously channeling Sherlock?
For what it’s worth, I think the kind of awareness that makes you question that won’t ever let you get overconfident.
P.S. When I first came across that quote ^ aged 14 or 15; I immediately realised that it’s very important, that that’s the kind of trap I might easily fall in, so I took a marker and wrote it down on my wardrobe. Probably why I could just write it here from memory.
I’m making breakfast when one of my flatmates walk in. She mentions this essay she’s grappling with for her 20th century Lit. class and I’m all “What’s it about?” and she was like, “Femininity in Lolita and Handmaid’s Tale” and I’m like, “No way! I wrote like a 2000 word literary analysis of ‘The Representation of Women in Handmaid’s Tale’ for an oral presentation I did in school 4 years ago. I’ve got it on my laptop right now, want me to email it to you?” and she was like, “Oh, GREAT! That would be super!”
So after breakfast I went looking for the document on my laptop and IT WAS NOT THERE. I searched everywhere, even my USB stick from high school: nothing. Now that I realise the document is gone forever, I feel like crying. That document was some of the finest literary criticism I ever got round to doing. There was maybe one essay after that I was proud of, the rest are nowhere near the same quality and I KNOW did not have that much thought put into them. My Extended Essay was nothing, nothing compared to that tiny preparation document I made for my IOP. Every bullet point was a well thought out argument, with quotations backing it up and commentary that could only result from three weeks of being shut in my house while a revolution raged on outside, with nothing to do but read dystopian novels and an assignment that was due “as soon as school was back on - whenever that is.”
They don’t ask you to make many presentations about literature in engineering degrees, which might be why I am feeling the loss of that document so keenly. It had never occurred to me before that something on which I’ve spent so much time could just cease to exist. There were pages upon pages of scribbles, white paper and blue paper, rainbow coloured pens and mind maps, but none of those survived. I thought that they were all there, in the finished product, stored neatly in a few kilobytes. I never experienced the death of a Word document before. It shouldn’t matter, right? Four years later, after I’ve been graded, after I’ve graduated, after I’ve left English as a subject behind forever… surely it shouldn’t matter.
shout out to thorin oakenshield for getting lost in the shire not once, but twice
too majestic to ask for directions
Even the ring wraiths asked for directions.
The Shire is like Maadi: labyrinthine and full of trees.
I can’t believe all the streams are down you’ve got to be kidding me
Same. I’ve decided to just watch it when I wake up tomorrow.