Happy new year everyone, and I hope you enjoy, or at least hate slightly less, this daylog, my first in a while. 36 days, to be exact. Whoo, how time flies.

I'm just not gonna bother making any half-assed promises on here about how I'm gonna get thin or be less of a wanker in general because I've done that every year for the past year or so and I'm still the personification of Eric Cartman I've always been, so there's really no point. I'll try and go into college each day, an area in which I've been woefully lacking recently (skiving is fucking addictive, trust me on this: you just can't stop...you just wanna skive more, and skive longer lectures...) and I'll try to avoid pissing off my girlfriend less, which is slightly less easy than it looks.

It's only less easy than it looks because right now my long-suffering girlfriend is starting a course of Lustral (Zoloft for you Americanians) and Risperidone, as well as sleeping pills for when her inconsiderate neighbour is screaming her fucking lungs out at her poor, poor children. This means that, at the current rate, I should be down one testicle by February, and have a delightful array of scars down one side of my face. Of course, I am happy to suffer through this in the vain, vain hope that she gets better. This is course if she actually takes the pills at all: it was an uphill struggle to get her to get the damn things from the doctor at all, which involved her kicking me out of her flat and a very angry phone call about how she was being quite, quite stupid by refusing all this help she was being given (after not being offered it for the last decade and a half of her life). The next hour was then spent going to a surgery and sitting while her doctor outlined exactly what she'd be hopped up on and me praying it wasn't Seroxat (I don't want her to kill herself any quicker; little did I know then that all SSRIs make you suicidal at first. Ahh, naivity), then collecting the pills themselves. The Risperidone is an anti-psychotic, and at the basic level stops you having strange visions. Think Donnie Darko-that's what these are meant to cure (6 foot rabbit optional). It comes in a nice warm yellow box, welcoming to schizophrenics and small children alike. The Lustral comes in a cold white clinical box with a Pfizer logo on it, and the word LUSTRAL in big bold letters, as if to impress upon you exactly what you're shoving down your gullet. These essentially inhibit the happy chemicals (yep, I'm dumbing things down a little) in your brain from being received, which makes the brain think "Hang on a tick, these aren't being received, I must not be making enough" and make more. Which is supposed to mean that you become happy; what it means in real terms is that for anywhere from a few hours to a couple of weeks you have the unbelievable urge to kick the living shit out of everything, as the serotonin goes away and you sink slightly lower.

Then, hopefully, you start to get happier after those two weeks. Huzzar.

Well, revealing all of this information to you is likely to get me killed by my beau. Last time I had any kind of diary of my own thoughts and feelings about anything in this relationship, it was in a password protected Word document. which I duly lost the password to. Then I lost the Word file. So now all my writings from this period, detailing the general bleakness of the future, are, as the scientists like to say, "blowed up". Joys. Had a nice copy of Fog embedded in it...ah well.

Depressing music is now actually a major factor in my life, as anybody who has seen my large collection of Radiohead MP3s will testify. Anybody who has also seen me wandering around my college listening to Bulletproof...I Wish I Was will also realise that the music that I listen to is very, very dry and depressing indeed. Not that it's bad; I just happen to like depressing music more. Even if it does make small children want to slit their wrists quicker than a 2kg Seroxat tablet covered in Bitrex. Not that I don't like happy music either. Just happen to prefer empathy to "Look! NICE DAY! BIRDS! CLOUDS! SUN! CHICKENS! HAPPY FUCKING DAY now go and get pissed".

This is to say nothing of my slight soft spot for Afroman.

Anyway, there ends my daily vent. Not like you cared, I just wanted to waste 10 minutes of your time. I'm spiteful and evil like that.

I usually find it hard to compile my top ten movies of the previous year, because I tend to forget the films I saw at the start of the year, or think they belonged to the previous year (I'm a bit of a scatterbrain). But I'm also a hoarder, and I keep the ticket-stubs of every movie I go to during the year in a pocket in my wallet. Over the last couple of days, being the "film-person" in my circle of friends, several of my friends have asked me what my top ten movies of the past year were. So this morning I took all of last years already-fading ticket-stubs from my wallet and reviewed the cinema of 2004. I was disappointed to find that, for financial reasons, I had only seen a total of 48 movies in the cinema last year, and even more disappointed to discover that only ten of those were foreign-language movies. Was 2004 a particularly bad year for foreign language movies? I rushed to my collected years' programmes from the only Arthouse cinema in Dublin, the Irish Film Centre, and found that, no, indeed there were a lot of foreign-language films screened in my city this year, many of which I had heard very positive things about. It would seem that the exhorbitant rate of inflation in this country has pushed ticket prices up so far, that I can no longer afford to support the cinema I love by taking a chance on an unknown foreign-language film. Now that makes me feel sad. So I'm breaking my resolution not to make resolutions, and I hereby resolve (with all of you lovely people as my witnesses) to take a chance on more foreign-language movies this year, in spite of the cost.

Looking back, this year was a good year for cinema, not a great year (because I've only got a top six, not ten). I don't know whether it's just the particular films I chose to watch, but it seems to me that unusual perspectives on love and relationships seemed a prevalent theme in the slightly skewed cinema of 2004, with films like Michael Winterbottom's first foray into the world of science fiction in Code 46, which was an unexpectedly beautiful affair, Michel Gondry's excellent Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, also the wonderfully acted Lost in Translation and I fell in love again watching Richard Linklater's poignant Before Sunset. Although these were my favourite films of the year, I also greatly enjoyed School of Rock, American Splendor, and the wonderful conversation in much of Jim Jarmusch's well casted, but flawed Coffee and Cigarettes, which, unfortunately, started me smoking again - Tom Waits told me it was ok to have one if I've quit (that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it. No more resolutions!)

Although they wouldn't make my top ten, Fahrenheit 9/11 and The Corporation gave the cinema-going public food for thought this year. With several new releases for 2005 already whetting my appetite, I'm eagerly anticipating the cinema of 2005. Watch out for Wong Kar-wai's long-awaited 2046, and I'm still awaiting the Irish release of Zach Braff's Garden State, which I fear will be the movie I've always wanted to make, but am looking forward to seeing anyway.

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