Exterminate!

I had a meeting this afternoon at BBC Television Centre in White City; we sat in the coffee shop downstairs for a chat, and these were poised about ten feet behind us. Amazing.

Best part of the most recent series finale, about which I still haven't really made up my mind: German daleks.

Tetsuuuoooooo!

Went to see Akira at the BFI this evening. Faaabulous.

Learning To Love You More

If you’re based Oop North, around Middlesbrough, today is a good day to go see some art… The lovely Nicky P is curating a Learning To Love You More exhib, of which yours truly is a part. I wish I could get up there to see it, but it’s just a tiny bit too far away for a daytrip.

currently rocking my world

1. Dr Horrible's Sing-Along Blog
Have I mentioned before how much I love Joss Whedon? I have? Frequently? Oh. Well, here's just another example of why. Musical webisodes about a supervillian (Dr Horrible), his arch nemesis (Captain Hammer), and the girl of his dreams...

'Joss Whedon set out on the low-budget project during the writers' strike as a lark and a labor of love — and to show the industry an out-of-the-box project could find an audience. But the overwhelming response has caught him by surprise.

"We had this home-baked idea that we love and we're proud of," Whedon says. "We made this on the understanding that we'd never make a dime. But it's blown up beyond our expectations." '

The first Act made me giggle with absolute glee. Who else - seriously, who on earth else? - could have come up with something like this, and made such a site-crashing success? Because that's what happened - the blog was so popular the servers crashed. If that's not a show of love, I don't know what is. Joss Whedon, I salute you. And can't wait for Dollhouse.

Here's the trailer - then go watch the full episodes.

2. Y The Last Man
So on my lunchbreak today I made a trip to the comic store to pick up the most recent Buffy series 8 issues (see above for the Whedon love), and discovered the last collected volume of YTLM, Book 10 - Whys & Wherefores (which is only available for pre-order on Amazon, so was perhaps an American import?). I was reading it on the tube home this evening, after a couple of cocktails in Soho, and about halfway through really wished I wasn't reading it in public. So. Gutting. Augh.

As with all good things, I was worried about how it was going to end, and wasn't sure about the epilogue, until the last couple of pages, which just made me laugh with relief. Brian K Vaughan and Pia Guerra, I salute you too.

3. Everything else:

a dream upon waking...

I awoke this morning promptly at 7am (which was strange enough in itself, as these past few days I've been setting up to six [!] alarms to ensure I get up in time - and have still managed most days to turn them all off and fall back asleep), convinced I had the winning idea for the Red Planet Prize. There was mystery and intrigue and great characters... I dragged myself out of bed, and while washing my face and brushing my teeth I tried to form some logic from the tangled web of the idea.

Teeth clean, I stumbled back to my room and sat down on the bed. There were some pretty gaping holes in what I'd worked out, and, worse, the idea was slowly, slowly drifting and slipping away from me... those characters who I knew so well before I woke were becoming misty and half-formed, the plot premise was murky and indistinct...

And I came to the realisation that it had all been but a dream, never anything more coherent than subconscious rumblings. Defeated, I crawled back into bed - after all, if I wasn't going to do any writing that second, I could steal an extra ten minutes before I really had to get up. But as I re-set my alarm, I could at least feel that even though my conscious brain has hit a brick wall when it comes to this project, my subconscious is constantly mulling it over...

And with that I dozed back off, and ten minutes later slept through my alarm...

Red Planet Prize blog

heathens

For some reason people seem to trust me with their kids, and so it is I have two pretty fabulous (aside from the tantrums and screaming and crying and throwing up) godchildren, courtesy of best friend from high school and best friend from university. I say godchildren, but perhaps they're more fairy godchildren, as neither have been actually baptised in the church; both friends wanted people to fill godparent-type roles for their kids though neither wanted an actual baptism (not so much with the churchgoing), so for lack of a better non-religious word, godmother it has become. Or "non-godmother", as I was asked to be for Margot.

Today was the kind of non-christening, hey this is our baby kind of party: a big picnic in Wimbledon Park - picnic rugs and sausage rolls and fairy cakes and homemade party hats and cricket and rounders and bottles of Strongbow (just to add that touch of class). My non-godmother request came with a clause to educate Junior about Joss Whedon when she's old enough to understand; I already expanded this brief to include some rock'n'roll basics, so pushed the boundaries a little further to include Doctor Who, a series her mum and I have both been loving recently. And so it was I spent Saturday afternoon making Dalek shaped cookies and decorating them with silver balls, in the name of godmotherly duty...

Summer solstice

Is anyone else slightly horrified we’re already half way through 2008?? So much to do, so little time…

Status update of the year so far? Interesting. Much better than last year. Whereas ‘07 felt like treading water, ‘08 feels a lot more about taking steps forward – even if they are tiny baby steps, and even if it’s sometimes two steps forward, one step back. It’s still progress. And I feel for the first time settled and happy in London. That NY trip kind of got it out of my system. So this second half of the year, it’s all guns blazing, reaching for the sky, getting at least somewhere near what I want. Wish me luck…

Over-identify-much?

I am loving Donna Noble. I wasn’t really the biggest fan of her Christmas Special (2006), aside from the fact that part of it was set in Chiswick, so when they announced her as the new companion I was a little worried. But the character totally hit the ground running and just gets better and better. Catherine Tate is awesome.

And this has nothing at all to do with the fact that being a temp, from Chiswick, who’s living with family because of the lack of permanent job, I slightly over-identify with her, and totally get how much she wanted to find the Dr to get away from it all. Nothing at all…

Here Is New York

"There are roughly three New Yorks. There is, first, the New York of the man or woman who was born there, who takes the city for granted and accepts its size, its turbulence as natural and inevitable. Second, there is the New York of the commuter--the city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night. Third, there is New York of the person who was born somewhere else and came to New York in quest of something. Of these trembling cities the greatest is the last--the city of final destination, the city that is a goal. It is this third city that accounts for New York’s high strung disposition, its poetical deportment, its dedication to the arts, and its incomparable achievements. Commuters give the city its tidal restlessness, natives give it solidity and continuity, but the settlers give it passion. And whether it is a farmer arriving from a small town in Mississippi to escape the indignity of being observed by her neighbors, or a boy arriving from the Corn Belt with a manuscript in his suitcase and a pain in his heart, it makes no difference: each embraces New York with the intense excitement of first love, each absorbs New York with the fresh yes of an adventurer, each generates heat and light to dwarf the Consolidated Edison Company..."
E.B. White - "Here Is New York" (1948)

I was sitting on the subway, the G train, heading down to Carroll Gardens to go to Rocketship then hang out with Dan, staring into space when my eyes focused in on the ad panel opposite me. It was a passage from an E.B. White essay, the one I've copied above. I read it a couple of times, taking it in, then had to look away because it felt like someone had caught my heart. That's it, I thought. That's exactly what the city means to me, one of that Third category. That's how it is.

Or was. This time in NY has been strange. It's a trip I'd been postponing for a while, something was holding me back from booking tickets, but then I had no work lined up and everyone I wanted to see would be there before heading off on tour or to weddings or vacations. And it was great to be back and to see everyone, and go for brunch at Florent, and get ice cream at 1am on Houston, and sit in Union Square eating apples and watching the streetfighters do their thing, and go to Coney for the day, and sit in Sugar Sweet Sunshine drinking iced coffee... But I missed that buzz. That excitement that used to keep me going. That incredible awe of "Oh my god, I'm living in New York."

Maybe it was the heatwave. That awful 40 degree heat where you didn't want to move, the heat lightning flickering all night, the a/c units and huge fans barely making a dent on the still, hot air. It saps your energy - half the things and people I'd wanted to do and see I didn't get round to, it was just too hot to do much.

But I've come back feeling strangely glad to be home - which is a first - and with a renewed sense of wanting to make a go of it now, here. I'll still miss my friends, but there's email and AIM/iChat and UK tours and London Fashion week and other things that'll bring them over. I'll miss the chutzpah of the city and the food (would someone please open a Taco Bell over here?), and the great tradition of brunch which still hasn't caught on as much as I'd like over here. But I'm looking at London with new eyes, and I suddenly see that most of what I loved about New York is available here. It's just a case of making an effort and looking.

If you make me a part of your child’s life, I will imprint myself upon them…

I tried reading Watchmen to my godson Tayo when he was 5 months old but he just wasn’t that in to it. The Marvel Heroes X Men pop up book went down a bit better when he’d just turned one, and now he’s approaching two (where has the time gone?!) I bombard him with comic book t-shirts. We went shopping and came back with two Spiderman and one Batman t-shirts. And that’s not even touching upon the NJ Nets and Run DMC things I got him as a baby…


And then there’s goddaughter Margot, who got her first Ramones t-shirt three months before she was even born, and who I had much fun stocking up for in New York – this Clash onesie from Trash & Vaudeville being a prime example. So punk rock.

Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull...

...or whatever it's called, is a pile of shite.

However, three hours of solid air conditioning courtesy of the movie theatre was worth the $12 ticket price alone. Goddamn this 40 degree New York heatwave.

The frozen margs we then got at El Cantinero were pretty fucking great too.

a brief moment of self-promotion

Okay, so it took me long enough, but I finally got around to putting the two short pieces I did for Flux back in December up online, ahead of hopefully seeing Hope Larson at MoCCA this weekend.

Without further ado:

Hope Larson
Foals

sunday night musings after only three hours sleep

So I've been making plans to go back to NY, as work is sporadic and I have a bonus £500 (rare). But every time I get close to booking tickets, I get cold feet and can't quite go through with it - and am not sure why. So I re-watched the dumb little movie I made before I left, and was re-reading the blog archives circa 2005, when I first moved to the Apple, to remind myself of the amazing times and making myself feel very nostalgic. Everything felt like an adventure then. I came across this sentence that made me laugh out loud as it just seemed to sum up 2005 NY for me:

"Sure, I could stay in, make sure I know my shit, get a good night’s sleep and be truly prepared, but we’re young and in New York. I need my Friday night fill of hot boys, cute girls, cheap(ish) drinks, good music and general Lower East Side activity. Who wouldn’t?"

Long sigh. The nostalgia and odd kind of homesickness for that feeling of being young and free and having the (social) world at our feet clashed oddly with one of my recent posts about getting old, and I tried to reconcile the two ideas. Reading those archives I couldn't fathom how I used to do it - running on about 3 or 4 hours sleep a night, working a 9am-6pm job five days a week, class one evening a week, going out and staying out till the wee hours at least three times a week... how is that humanly possible?

Last night I headed out to Feeling Gloomy for some drinks and dancing, with my old roommate from New Jersey and a friend from my intake out there. Good times, almost like old times... This isn't so bad, I thought.

And then I got home, soaked after being caught in the rain at 3:30am and having to run from Centre Point down to Trafalgar Square to get my night bus when the other bus prematurely terminated, sober as I stopped drinking pretty early, tired from dancing, a little cold from the walk down St John's Road - and found an email asking me to be godparent to young Margot (with a clause attached to fill her in about Joss Whedon at some point in her life...) And suddenly realised that while being young, free, drunk and with no responsibilities has something going for it, everyone has to change, everyone grows up, and it's little things like this that makes things worthwhile.

possibly the geekiest thing i've ever done

I just changed the settings on my phone so that the text alert sound is that of the Tardis.

Every time I get a text, it sounds like the Tardis is landing somewhere nearby.

*Awesome*

viva la cobra indeed

Sunday night. London Astoria 2. Cobra Starship & All Time Low. Lots of teenagers in hoodies (y'know, like emo/punk style hoodies, not hoodie-hoodies). Running late as ever, we miss the first band, though that was partially intentional, get there in time to grab a drink and find a place to stand (up on the balcony thank you very much; no floor standing for me. Have I not already outlined that I'm old now and can't handle mixing it up with the raring-to-go youth?)

The band come on and play a good set, though I'm not familiar with stuff from their new album (does that make me a bad friend?) apart from the horrendously catchy Guilty Pleasures (with its hilarious videos). Make attempts to get hold of people, then run into Victoria in the glassed-off section of the bar who gets Alex. He walks us backstage; my sister is weirdly psyched about this, despite the amounts of times I've mentioned how unglam it actually is. I think she is still surprised by *this* however: a small poky dark green room that can barely hold five people comfortably - that the two co-headliners are sharing. There's rum and beer and pitta bread and Sainsburys Economy Jam and flying saucers, and at one point after the gig has ended and both bands plus assorted friends are in and around the dressing room, a big Disney singalong starts off, a medley of Aladdin hits. It's the most unglamourous, un-rock'n'roll thing, like, ever. Though very funny.

After wandering round Soho looking for food and Alex being accosted by various fans who are still hanging outside the venue and the bus taking ages to pack and leaving way beyond bus call, the bus finally moves off and heads a very circuitous and long route back to Shepherds Bush. We're on the upper deck, sat round a table watching series 1 of 24, along with three of All Time Low (seem nice, very young, quite drunk) and three groupies girls (I never know how to feel about these girls. I'm sure they know what they're doing, but they always seem so young. And I always just wander, "Why??" I'm not sure I get the groupie mindset) along for the ride...

We go grab a corner booth while the bands and crew check in. The hotel bar is painfully expensive; a couple of people have already ordered drinks but then Gabe turns up with wine and vodka taken from the bus, which is sneakily drunk in the corner. Some of the De La Soul tour are propping up the bar, which everyone tries not to look at too obviously, but - De La Soul! Holy shit.

Eventually it's like 2am; my sister has to be up at 6 for a call time of 8am in East London, so after arranging to pick Alex up the following afternoon as he's invited himself round for "tea" (what else, in England?), we head on out, grab a bagel to share at the 24 hr place on Bush Green then jump on a bus down to Hammersmith to get the night bus back on out to our neck of West London. When I finally crash, I'm beyond relieved (for a change) that I have no work the next morning, and do not envy my sister in the slightest...

how you know you're getting old

1. When you prefer a "nice sit down" and a mug of tea to hanging out at music festivals

The Cobra boys are in town; after some brief hang time on Friday night at Victoria's flat in Kensington (which, by the way, is drool-worthy), their first gig is the next day at Give It A Name. Alex puts me on the list with a +1.

We head down there in time for their set at 4ish, walk the wrong way round Earls Court Centre, double back on ourselves, eventually get in. It's very dark inside. Fi wants to get to the front, I prefer to steer clear of teenage moshers, so we settle for somewhere in the middle. It's fun that most of the kids around us know the words to the songs and are dancing and stuff, but like I say, I'm not into the big crowds so duck back a ways. Their set finishes, we escape the crowds, I try to text one of the US cell phones but I'm not even sure they have them on. Fi veers towards Pizza Express in the outer hall but the lines are massive. Both of us would quite like a sit down.

We decide then to leave - we've seen the band we want to see, the only others that interest me aren't on till much later that night. We get off at Turnham Green to stop for ice cream at Fouberts, get some groceries, walk back to the car that we've left in W4, then drive home. Collapse on the sofa with a cuppa to watch Dr Who (The Doctor's Daughter. I had some issues with it, but still. Sob.) and barely move for the rest of the evening. Rock n roll.

2. When drunken BBQs turn into family-friendly affairs

The next day is amazingly hot and sunny. We'd been trying to organise a BBQ for today but as of Saturday night it's only going to be me, my sister, and her friend Katy, which means less BBQing and more lying in the sun with a glass of something cold and alcoholic. As the sun heats up, it seems everyone that couldn't make it before, or wasn't sure if they could, suddenly want in on the grilled meat action. We somehow have eight people turning up and no food, so an emergency trip to Tescos is called for. Food, drink, ice cream. Someone else is bringing the Pimms. There's lots of beer in the fridge. Party time.


We get home and sort food out and then decide to make the garden more toddler-friendly, as the godson is coming over. He brings over his paddling pool, for the amusement of all. The Binnie-Marston clan also turn up, so we now have two under-2s among us. There are more soft drinks around than beer, and the Pimms doesn't even get opened. Everyone lounges in the sun, the music plays (at a neighbourhood-friendly - I hope - volume), people read the Sunday papers, Sam makes me bring down our uni yearbook (laughs all round). All in all it's a thoroughly civilised affair; a far cry from the house party style BBQ of our youth that we had perhaps envisioned, but is there really anything wrong with that? After all, we can't stay young forever, and what's so great about youthful recklessness anyway?

all the world's a stage

After a day hanging out with the Binnie and bebe Margot, enjoying the brilliant turn up in the weather - sunshine! all day! temperatures over 20 degrees! - I hop on the train up to the South Bank for an evening of culture - King Lear at the Globe.

I studied King Lear for A Level and it's always been one of my favourite Shakespeare plays; the only stage version I've seen was a school trip to see it right before we read the book, and it was, by all accounts, a pretty crappy version.

The Globe itself is one hell of a place. I love that people took the time, patience and energy to rebuild this historical building. In fact I remember that my high school took part in a 'Sponsored Shakespeare' event (literally, readings of his plays for 24 hours straight, with people donating money for every hour or play that was got through) when Wanamaker and co. were raising funds.


I meet up with my friend in the coffee shop and hire cushions for £1 - well worth every penny. Musicians in 16th Century garb come out on stage and play on ancient instruments, before two of the actors come out and ask the audience to kindly not let any anachronisms such as phone rings or flash photography interrupt the play.

The performance itself is interesting; there's slightly less focus on the tragic aspects of the play, and the comedic side is turned up, but I enjoy it all and the individual performances are great. Though I did want to punch every member of the audience when there was a group "Awwww" when an insane Lear hugs Edgar in disguise as Mad Tom. IT'S NOT AN 'AWWW' MOMENT. Cretins.

Waiting for the bus back to Waterloo, a man starts chatting to me - a real local, South East London bloke - who tells me he was part of an activist group who opposed the building of the Globe, wanting instead for funding to go towards housing for local working class people in that area. I note that it's the first time I've ever gone to the Globe, but I'm sure it comes off as privileged whining. I shrug and sit away from him on the bus, my theatre buzz effectively snuffed by the guy. I guess I can understand his miffedness.

And now, a shameful secret I impart... There's a Dr Who episode in series 3 called the Shakespeare Code (wow, I've literally only just got that that's probably a play on the Da Vinci Code. I'm a dumbass) where the Dr and Martha encounter Shakespeare; the end scene occurs at the Globe, where they all fight off the bad guys for that episode. It's a brilliant scene, with a genuine laugh out loud Harry Potter reference. And as I sat in the theatre waiting for the play to begin, that was all I could think of. Not about how this was theatre as it used to be. Not about the historical importance of the place. Dr Who. Quel dommage.

oh i do like to be beside the seaside

So the Dream (temp) Job has come to an end, so I round up my peoples (Fi, Maria and the tot) and decide to head down to Brighton for the day (where I haven't been since I was 10). The weather's been so-so in the preceding few days, and we wake up the morning of the daytrip to slate grey skies and continuous rain. So far so bad. No one is amused. We pick up Maria and Tayo from Shepherd's Bush and hope for the best...

By the time we pass the sign welcoming us to West Sussex, there is more blue in the sky than grey; as we park in Brighton along the marina, the sun is starting to come out.

We head straight into the Sealife Centre (initally to use the toilets), and many fish and stingrays, one Amazon exhibit, some sharks and a wicked giant turtle (plus one mega tantrum from Tayo) later, we emerge to blazing sunshine and clear blue skies. Hurrah!

Food is on the agenda so we walk the couple blocks up to Momma Cherri's Soul Food Shack for lunch. I read a review of this place years ago in a newspaper, and it stuck with me as I realised I had gone to primary school with the owner's daughters, and Momma Cherri (or Cherita as I remember her by) frequently helped out with school drama productions and the like. I mentally filed it away for future use; now we're finally here, I suggest it to Maria, who apparently is familiar with Momma Cherri from Saturday Kitchen. So there we head. We're given a nice big table and there are plenty of toys for the tot. We each order a homemade lemonade (yum) and lots of food - a meatball sub, grilled catfish, hush puppies, cornbread (drool) and mac & cheese for Matteo. The food is all incredible; Tayo seems to prefer cornbread to actual substantial food but I'm happy to eat his mac cheese for him while he throws cucumber on the floor, hoovers up the corn bread, and flirts with Momma Cherri's very cute granddaughter.

All a little happier now are sugar levels are raised (we skip dessert, holding out for hot donuts on the pier later) and wander up to the Pavilion (what amazing buildings) then down to the pier. Fi and Maria are hunting for "saucy" postcards for their boss, we're all on the look out for donuts; we wander round the fairground (no takers for any rides, though I am quite tempted - as always - by the rollerghoster). Fi keeps going on about some milkshake shop she went to last time she was down visiting friends who are at Sussex Uni so we venture back into town, donuts in hand.

We get lost in the Lanes - she has no idea where this milkshake place actually is, so I make her call her friends. By the time we find it, there's a sign saying 'Back in 5' so we wander some more. Luckily when we return it's open so we get these apparently legendary shakes... and then Fi tips half of hers over Tayo, while trying to give him a sip. The poor kid sits there staring at her, at the half cup of milkshake all over his hoodie. Then politely asks for some more. Can't deny a sweet tooth... One quick change of clothes later, and we're all feeling the effects of sunshine, sea air and lots of food so head back to the car. While some lucky toddlers are passed out within about five minutes of being back on the road; some of us have to do the drive back and forget to get on the M25 from the M23 and have to navigate back through Croydon...

i love the smell of spring sunshine in the morning

My love/hate relationship with the Smoke is well documented, but on early Spring mornings when the sun is wide awake and the sky blue and the air fresh, foregoing the bus and walking over Waterloo Bridge up to Bloomsbury, London looks it finest - and, with just the right music on the old ipod, sets you up better for the day than the strongest cup of coffee could.

never an anachronism

I hate to cross-post again, but this is too great not to. I have frequently professed my love for mixtapes and making them (mix CDs, whatever) (God, the mixtapes I made as a teenager were works of *art*) on here, so Muxtape is like my dream website. How great?


photo nicked from the lovely jimmy-j, because his photo was better than anything that came up on google image search.

a little early celebration...

As Easter day happens to fall on my birthday this year, and in the UK Easter = four-day bank holiday weekend, and that means lots of people away, we went for birthday drinks last night at The Social.

These are about the most coherent photos of the night... all downhill from the nachos and champagne onwards (via some cocktails and too many shooters)...

welcome...

When we arrived back in Buxton after visiting Macclesfield, I discovered I had a text. I read the following and practically jumped and down with glee:

Sam, 01-03-2008 13:47
What a hoot! Margot Tess M----, 6lb 9, accidentally born at home after a brief-ish labour. All utterly hilarious. She is a beauty. X

Part of me was dying to know whether she'd actually been born that morning, or, fingers crossed, the day before - 29th February...

This evening I finally managed a visit to go say hi. I *always* forget just quite how tiny and fragile new born babies are. Mewww.

because we're dead

So tonight for the Diggler's birthday, we went to the ICA to go see Black Kids play. I like their songs okay plus there's been so much crazy hype about their live shows, my interest was piqued - and JD got the tix so I was happy to go along for his b'day.

After spending the earlier part of the evening walking round central London in the freeeeeezing cold (I finished work way before him), clutching new issues of Suburban Glamour and Buffy (if people make me kill time in the West End, I inevitably seem to end up buying comics. Need to stop that habit), peering through coffee shop windows like some kind of urchin looking for a warm place to sit, by the time I got to the ICA I was a little at that "meh" kind of stage. So I ordered up a strong drink, tried to psyche myself into gig mode... and then spotted that Slow Club were supporting that night.

I've already had them as my British Band of the Day over on Popserious but I just need to reiterate - I heart this band. Seeing them live was even better - the giggles, the slightly nervous banter (the room was shamefully empty when they played), the fact that Rebecca played drums and a chair (must be seen), and that they both were just generally adorable. I was bowled over and made happy again.

Black Kids, as it turns out, actually weren't much to write home about. But Slow Club were worth the price of admission.

meme, myself and i

Okay that was really lame. Sorry. So anyways, I got tagged, which I have discovered admittedly a little belatedly as my interweb usage has shrunk recently, but here goes. A quick recap of the rules:
1. Pick up the nearest book (of at least 123 pages).
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people.

Here goes. The first book on the pile next to my bed is England's Dreaming. It has more than 123 pages. It just turns out that p. 123 is the first in a new chapter, and is thus only three sentences long (most of the page being taken up with a large number 10 and an illustration of Lou Reed from an old zine. So I have to go for the one underneath that - I Am Legend, borrowed from Sam, finished last week, and not yet returned:

He took a deep breath, wondering why the tightness in him didn't break. For a while he'd thought that he trusted her. Now he wasn't sure.

I expect the meme stops here, as I don't know who still reads this that could be tagged...

And for the record, no I haven't seen the film, no I'm not really interested.

when routine bites hard, and ambitions are low

Rewind to Autumn Fall 2005. It's Sunday night; I rock up to apartment 3a in the Lower East Side to hang out and pick up a camera (for a photo project) I walk into what was then the living room to find myself staring at a huge rasterised poster on one wall. It's a striking - and familiar - image, and at some point during the evening it becomes clear that it's Joy Division (if there's one thing I got from New York, it was a musical education; my knowledge was pretty limited before I moved there). Later on, I look up JD, listen to them, realise I actually know a bunch of their songs - just never realised who they were by. I listen again. And again. And slowly Joy Division become one of my favourite, most-listened to bands.

Fast forward to - well, now. The lyrics I've used to title this post couldn't feel more apt: London is grinding me down, the seemingly neverending job hunt is so depressing and dispiriting, the temp job I'm at is doing my head in. It's time for an escape.

Friday we drive up North, via the old Alma Mater for a brief pit stop (quite odd going back there), then across to the Peak District, where I'm visiting my oldest friend who now lives in Buxton. As we're eating dinner, she asks if there's anything in particular I'd like to do that weekend. Well, I say, now you mention it...

Saturday comes and the driving rain of the night before has disappeared, though the wind tries to rip the car door off its hinges as I open it. We drive across the Peaks to the next big town over, Macclesfield, hometown of Ian Curtis, Joy Division's tortured lead singer, who committed suicide at the age of 23, in 1980.

As we drive through the cemetery gates, a part of me feels a bit odd about this. I'd talked to my friend Dan about the possibility of visiting the grave before I came, my doubts about it - but as he said, What else are pilgrimages? We park and look at the map of the graveyard as I'd read that Curtis's stone was the only one actually mentioned on the map. It isn't. His is a small kerbstone marker... one among very many. We walk around the cemetery for about half an hour - and of course it ends up being ten feet from where we'd parked (if only we'd circled the cemetery anti-clockwise..!)

I stand in front of it, not sure what to do or how to feel. Others have left small trinkets - some daffodils, a plastic windmill, even a box of cigarettes and a lighter. There's a tupperware tub there as well, which I'd read about on a memorial website; the author had opened it out of curiosity to find birthday cards to Ian, with the top one being from his mother. I don't touch it, it feels like it would be too intrusive. My kind friend, the non-Joy Division person, is starting to get cold and doesn't quite understand why I wanted to come here in the first place - and to be honest, I'm not sure I can even explain it myself.

There's a strange feeling, caught somewhere between my stomach and throat, as I stand there. That someone with that much potential has become a small stone marker, bedecked with plastic toys. We turn and head back to the car, and on the drive home I plug my ipod into her car stereo and play Joy Division to her ("Oh I know these songs", she says) and the feeling won't quite fade, but as the music fills the car and we drive through the old mining town and landscapes that formed the music, it morphs slowly into a sad kind of happiness and I realise that my friend Dan was right, that this was a pilgrimage of sorts, and that they don't always have to be religious. Sometimes they're just about a brilliant band that affects your life.

a sunny weekend with my camera glued in my hand

A very sunny yet numbingly cold February weekend in the Smoke, which was spent mostly outside and, for some reason, mostly by the river - at different ends of London. A trip along the Thames Path east from Tower Bridge with J-Dig on the Saturday, where I walked through parts of London I've never before ventured to and froze my ears, nose and fingers off in the process; Sunday, walking back from Richmond along the river, where everything was bathed in the golden tint of the late afternoon sun. I love winter when it's like this (if perhaps preferring it marginally warmer, as before...)

daytrip

Today was so nice we decided to escape London. We were planning on going to Oxford but faffed around too much at home beforehand so didn't leave ourselves enough time to get there and back before birthday drinks in the evening, so we stayed a little closer to home and went to Windsor for a wander in the ridiculously warm (for early February) sunshine. I heart castles.

inky hands

Life as I currently know it is so boring and tedious (christ do I hate job hunting) that it drove me to actually create a short comic, instead of just kind of scribbling down doodles and ideas as usual. I managed to get an inordinate amount of ink on my hands whilst inking it (because I'm a big spaz). It's pretty silly and retarded... but it was fun. I'm hoping this creative kick will continue and not just be a one-hit wonder. Here are the first few panels. The rest of the two page comic is up online somewhere (if you can find it, mwahahah)...

up against the mini bar...

So maybe it's a bit odd to repost on my blog from the group blog I'm part of but this is waaaayyy too good not to: Sarah Silverman and Matt Damon.

Veronica Mars series 3 finale

What.

The.

Hell.


And not in a good way.

Panda - Dungen

i know you like this dirty pop

Please go visit Popserious, the new blog on the block, a team effort, started up by friends from NY, of which I am now a member. Go! Quick!

baby i can drive your car

Woo hoo! Passed my driving test! First time! Everyone else in my family took two tries! I feel a road trip coming on!

ooh baby baby

Magnolia-recipe cupcakes I made for Sam's baby shower - with enough sugar in them to make a sloth hyperactive. So much amazing food was provided: bakewell tarts and victoria sponge and chocolate crispies and cream cakes (blech) and Ferrero Rocher, but after being around so much sugar - and it's not like I was even sampling the mixture, the sugar was just hanging in a cloud above the kitchen - I couldn't handle anything sweet and sat at the party lamely munching on carrot sticks (and the odd jelly baby) half wishing I had volunteered to make something a little less sweet.

Quote of the afternoon courtesy of her very well-behaved and polite (and adorable) 2 1/2 year old nephew Henry, about whom she had been trying to convince us he was not at all a pretentious child, after she asked him what he was saying: "Oh I'm not saying anything; I'm singing in French." Pretentious, moi?

the year in mix tapes

With a little poetic licence, if music be the food of life, this was my diet [along with the usual helpings of Bowie and Joy Division, plus musical soundtracks (Good Morning Baltimore!) and a LOT of The Smiths when I was working at Decca] for 2007...

January 2007
1. Soluble In Air - Mystery Jets
2. Street Spirit - Radiohead
3. Teignmouth - Patrick Wolf
4. Imagine - John Lennon
5. Come See Me Tonight - Daniel Johnston
6. These Boots Are Made For Walking - Nancy Sinatra
7. Like A Prayer - Madonna
8. Small Parts - the oohlas
9. Laid - James
10. Kooks - David Bowie
11. Shiny Happy People - REM
12. Cold Things Start To Burn - The Exploding Boy
13. Happy Kid - Nada Surf
14. I Can't Help Myself (Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch) - Four Tops
15. Everybody's Talking - Nilsson
16. Daydreamin' - Lupe Fiasco f. Jill Scott
17. This Will Be Our Year - The Zombies
18. Gypsy Death & You - The Kills


February 2007, aka. The Imaginary Mix CD pt.1
[This was made for Faran, though I can't quite remember why now]
1. Once And Never Again - The Long Blondes
2. About Your Dress - The Maccabees
3. Stumble And Fall - Razorlight
4. The Boy With The Thorn In His Side - The Smiths
5. Our Velocity - Maximo Park
6. The Kids Are All Fucked Up - Cobra Starship
7. Golden Skans - Klaxons
8. Let's Make Love & Listen To Death From Above - CSS
9. My Coo Ca Choo - Alvin Stardust
10. Burning Love - Elvis Presley
11. Same Jeans - The View
12. Love Today - Mika
13. Teen Line - The Shivvers
14. Tape It - WinterKids
15. Chelsea Dagger - The Fratellis
16. Janie Jones - The Clash
17. The English Way - Blondelle
18. XO - FOB

March 2007
[These were made for the lovely Lauren Ashley's birthday]
Part ONE
1. Girl - The Beatles
2. The Letter - The Pretty Things
3. Friends Of Mine - The Zombies
4. When The Night Feels My Song - Bedouin Soundclash
5. Sunshine (Go Away Today) - Jonathan Edwards
6. The Stars of Track And Field - Belle & Sebastian
7. Elephant Gun - Beirut
8. The Village Green Preservation Society - The Kinks
9. You Can Have It All - Kaiser Chiefs
10. Kittens of Lust - Goldenboy
11. Sorted for E's & Wizz - Pulp
12. Walk On The Wild Side - Lou Reed
13. When I Was A Young Girl - Feist
14. Dry The Rain - The Beta Band
15. Rider On The Wheel - Nick Drake
16. Angeles - Elliott Smith
17. A Dog's Life - Nina Nastasia
18. You're So Pretty... - Field Music
19. Crazy - The Kooks
20. I Don't Need Love, I've Got My Band - The Radio Dept.

Part TWO
1. Alas Agnes - Mystery Jets
2. A Sweet Summer's Night On Hammershill - Jens Lekman
3. Seems To Be On My Mind - Suburban Kids With Biblical Names
4. We Throw Parties, You Throw Knives - Los Campesinos!
5. Wouldn't Believe It - The Get Up Kids
6. I Should Have Known Better - The Beatles
7. Bastardo - Charlotte Hatherley
8. Ca Plane Pour Moi - Plastic Bertrand
9. Barcelona Loves You - I'm From Barcelona
10. You're Wondering Now - The Specials
11. The Clapping Song - Shirley Ellis
12. Indication - The Zombies
13. Little Miss Pipe Dream - The Wombats
14. New Martini - Karate
15. Sin City - The Essex Green
16. Colours - Donovan
17. All My Little Words - The Magnetic Fields
18. Luka (acoustic) - Suzanne Vega

April was spent with New Yorkers, briefly in London, for longer in NY. May was spent chivvying my sister up as she left on her mammoth US roadtrip at the end of the month.

June 2007
1. Johnny Cash - Sons & Daughters
2. You Can't Have It All - Ash
3. Fell In Love With A Girl - The White Stripes
4. Bron-y-aur Stomp - Led Zeppelin
5. I'm Waiting For The Man - The Velvet Underground
6. Route 66 - Rolling Stones
7. Suffragette City - David Bowie
8. And She Was - Talking Heads
9. Kick, Push - Lupe Fiasco
10. Cupid's Chokehold - Gym Class Heroes
11. Buddy Holly - Weezer
12. Plug In Baby - Muse
13. Well Thought Out Twinkles - Silversun Pickups
14. Wave of Mutilation - Pixies
15. 1979 - Smashing Pumpkins
16. Karma Police - Radiohead
17. Mystic Lady - T-Rex
18. Something In The Air - Thunderclap Newman

July-August 2007 (Life On Mars)
[When I had nothing better to do (did you see the weather this summer??) than watch Life On Mars series one and two DVD boxsets back to back and decided I needed more 60s/70s music in my life.]
1. Life On Mars - David Bowie
2. Immigrant Song - Led Zeppelin
3. Baba O'Riley - The Who
4. Live And Let Die - Paul McCartney & Wings
5. Fireball - Deep Purple
6. Whisky In The Jar - Thin Lizzy
7. Ballroom Blitz - The Sweet
8. The Jean Genie - David Bowie
9. Street Life - Roxy Music
10. Blockbuster - The Sweet
11. I Can't Tell The Bottom From The Top - The Hollies
12. Lay Down - The Strawbs
13. Alone Again Naturally - Gilbert O'Sullivan
14. In The Summer Time - Mungo Jerry
15. Goodbye Yellow Brick Road - Elton John
16. 10538 Overture - ELO
17. Rock On - T-Rex
18. Starman - David Bowie
19. How Can I Be Sure? - David Partridge
20. Rocket Man - Elton John

September 2007, aka. The Imaginary Mix CD pt.2
[Made for Faran while she was in London for Fashion Week.]
1. Blue Monday - New Order
2. Ice Cream - New Young Pony Club
3. Whip It - Devo
4. The Good Ones - The Kills
5. My Party - Kings of Leon
6. Out Of The Races And Onto The Tracks - The Rapture
7. Charmless Man - Blur
8. He's So Fine - Chiffons
9. Weekend Without Make Up - The Long Blondes
10. Top Of The Pops - The Rezillos
11. The Photos On My Wall - Good Shoes
12. Tell Him - Billie Davis
13. Ziggy Stardust - David Bowie
14. Lazy Eye - Silversun Pickups
15. Monday Morning - Pulp
16. You Are The Generation That Bought More Shoes - Johnny Boy
17. Oh No - Lavender Diamond
18. West Coast - Coconut Records

October 2007
[Made for Jimmyjames's birthday... which is actually in July, but... well... sometimes I'm a little belated with these things.]
1. Oh You Pretty Things - David Bowie
2. Leaves Do Fall - The Rosebuds
3. Insane - Grand Ole Party
4. Bad Education - Tilly & The Wall
5. You Don't Know - 13th Floor Elevators
6. In A World Without Love - Peter & Gordon
7. Haiti - Arcade Fire
8. Wave of Mutilation (slow/Pump Up The Volume version) - Pixies
9. Lazy Eye - Silversun Pickups*1
10. I Want Her She Wants Me - The Zombies
11. Roadrunner - Jonathan Richman & The Modern Lovers
12. You're No Good - Harvey Averne
13. Everybody's Gotta Live - Arthur Lee
14. I Could Be Happy - Altered Images
15. I Want Candy - Brian Poole & The Tremeloes

November 2007
1. No Love Lost - Joy Division
2. Lithium - Nirvana
3. And She Would Darken The Memory - The Twilight Sad
4. Roscoe - Midlake
5. More Than This - Roxy Music
6. Me And Mia - Ted Leo & The Pharmacists
7. We Used To Be Friends - The Dandy Warhols*2
8. Burning Down The House - Talking Heads
9. Such Great Heights - The Postal Service
10. Mad World - Tears For Fears
11. A Lifetime Of Pent-Up Sadness - Stars In Coma
12. Don't Want You To Wake Up - Teitur
13. Your Arms Around Me - Jens Lekman
14. Dress Up In You - Belle & Sebastian
15. St. Patrick - James Yorkston & The Athletes
16. This Side Of The Blue - Joanna Newsom
17. Sycamore - Bill Callahan
18. In My Life - The Beatles
19. The Leavers Dance - The Veils

December 2007
Christmas songs. Aaaaallll the time. What else??

And the year in 36 pictures, because 36 is all they would allow:

*1: A repeat from the previous month, but I was a little obsessed with this song in the second half of 2007.
*2: This coincided with a new-found obsession with Veronica Mars. I've said it before, I'll say it again - thank god for DVD boxsets.

happy merry whatever

10am, Christmas morning: as we open the blinds to discover grey skies and sheeting rain.

My sister: Ohhh, I was hoping for a White Christmas, not a wet christmas.
Me: There's only two letters between 'white' and 'wet' christmas.
Sister: There's only two letters between 'white' christmas and your mum.

3pm, Christmas day, Shepherd's Bush.
My godson, while not quite as insanely cute as last year, is rocking the festive jumper look, surrounded by many noisy toys.

4pm, Christmas day: driving back home.
Over Chiswick Bridge, the sky looks as if it's on fire - the rain has gone, the snow isn't coming, but there's a killer sunset to round off the daylight hours of Christmas '07.

Later: dinner scheduled around the Dr Who Christmas special, too much food, watching Hairspray in bed.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a... thank god Christmas is done for another year.

two interviews, one evening:

Obviously this is actually a picture of two foals-as-in-baby-horses, not Foals the band.

Dude. Yannis from Foals can TALK. A rescheduled phone interview that I thought would last about five minutes stretched out as he has much to say about music, the album and the music industry. Passionately and vehemently. (And ends with him saying "Oh now I'm just chatting shit. In fact, I've probably been lying to you for the past half and hour..." Joker.) But good for him. Far better too much talkage (ahem, even if it does mean a longer transcribing job*) than surly, gum-chewing, half-asleep on the sofa, not really paying attention interviewees. Not naming any (French) names. God I hate press junkets.

Then later, an email interview with Hope Larson (far easier, no dictaphones to mess things up. Plus, one could be sitting on the sofa, eating peanut M&Ms, half-watching Anchorman, and be doing the interview at the same time. Theoretically, I mean. I am of course dedicated to my work and chained to my desk...) whose work I love. Surfing her stuff online just makes me realise I should get back on the drawing thing, as it's been sidelined recently amid freelance work, interning, and trying to find a job. It also reminds me that Scott Pilgrim vol.4, drawn by her husband, still hasn't arrived in my local comic shop. Boo.

*actually not so long as my stupid dictaphone (the Belkin plug in for ipods) keeps skipping and chewing up chunks of the interview. Beyond annoying.

proof that you don't need to know about music to work in a music company

Temping in one of the big music companies this week - not the one I was at before. The other one. You know. This afternoon the guy next to me turns to me:

Guy: Are Sex Pistols any good?
Me: The Sex Pistols?
Guy: Yeah
Me: Depends on your music taste. They're pretty legendary. Why?
Guy: Someone just invited me to see them this evening at Brixton Academy
Me: (dying to go) Dang. You should.
Guy: I don't know...
Me: Well, do you like punk music?
Guy: ... Punk... like Avril Lavigne??

I had to turn away and pretend to pick something up from the printer to hide my smirk-bordering-on-giggles. Good grief.

Saw The National at Shepherds Bush Empire last night, after what feels like months of waiting. Being with two other people who were both under 5'6'', we found a perfect spot near the bar where there was a very handy ledge we could stand on to see over everyone. The band were great and kicked me out of the sheer knackeredness I seem to have slumped into this week.

I was also quite happy with the cute boy ratio at the gig, but that's another story...

I was trying to decide on a track or two to post with this and couldn't narrow it down enough so i've just gone with two crowd favourites:

Daughters of the Soho Riots (from Alligator)
Fake Empire (from Boxer)

Apologies for the yousendit-ness, but my website/server/something technical, I'm not too sure, is misbehaving at the moment.

happy halloween

Many tricks and treats to you all.

best present ever™

Love & Rockets, Eightball, Amphigorey 1 and 2, Stray Toasters, The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen and a beautiful sketch book, from my own personal Patron of the Arts. So rad.

most traumatising evening ever

Re-reading The Heart Is Deceitful Above All Things then watching Threads.

All in all, a fun-time party evening.

listen to the silence, let it ring on

So after months and months of waiting, finally Control is in cinemas, and I had myself a ticket for the special screening and Q&A with director Anton Corbijn at the Curzon Soho (yay!)

I'm sure the film doesn't need much of an introduction as I've rambled on about it before on here, but as imdb has it, it's "A profile of Ian Curtis (Riley), the enigmatic singer of Joy Division whose personal, professional, and romantic troubles led him to commit suicide at the age of 23." Except it was more than that.

The film was just beautiful. There are some images that are just stuck in my head - the scene where they're recording 'Isolation' in particular, and when Debbie Curtis comes home to find Ian's body (not that the audience is ever shown, as we linger on the outside of their terrace house once Debbie has gone in), and is crying and sobbing for help in the street, I actually got goosebumps. Or perhaps that was just when they cranked up the air conditioning.

The acting was spot-on, Sam Riley and Samantha Morton were amazing. I loved the film and want to see it again.

However. The guy next to me laughed too loudly at totally inappropriate and not-funny moments (to the extent that I started to wonder if he maybe knew the actor/s involved and had some weird private joke going on), which really bugged me (so I'm a cinema purist, so sue me).

And then there was the Q&A. This seemed like a golden opportunity: see the film I've been dying to see and get to hear the director talk about it after. Now maybe I'm a little more aware of how questions are asked now I've conducted a few interviews, but the guy hosting would make a lengthy statement about some aspect of the film and then basically just leave room for Corbijn to give some kind of yes-or-no answer - so it's to his credit that the director managed to reel things out some. Then there was the audience. People were all trying to be way too "Hey look at me, I know technical shit about film, I'm so clever; were you trying to demystify the legend of Joy Division??" (to which Corbijn replied "Errr no?"). It's just disappointing that he was there for us to grill and no one came up with any truly interesting or original questions (myself obviously included, but I didn't stick my hand up and ask an inane one just for the sake of doing so. Perhaps I should have).

But the film was still great. And I'm not even going to mention The Killers' cover of 'Shadowplay'. Oy vey.

yay for my friends!

It's always nice to read sweet things influential websites have to say about your friends. Pitchfork had the following to say about the lovely boys of Ivy League and the video for their song London Bridges, featuring a bunch of our friends in NY and made by the one and only cryingboy:

Video: This Is Ivy League: "London Bridges"

When Brian Howe reviewed "London Bridges" almost exactly a year ago, he commented that Ivy League were "working the same seam of homely beauty and prematurely autumnal sentimentality" as the Whitest Boy Alive and Peter Bjorn & John. That description still holds, but in the interim, a lot has changed: Ivy League have added a This Is to their name (a previous group by the same name threatened Ivy Litigation), signed to Twentyseven Records (new album scheduled for March 2008), and finally made a video for "London Bridges". Directed by artist Dan Estabrook, the clip creates and sustains a soft-focus weirdness, borrowing all the elements you'd expect from a postmillennial Chad & Jeremy-- blazers, bicycles, merry-go-rounds, a park in autumn-- while adding a few new flourishes-- women in animal costumes, gently evocative use of color and pattern. Alex Suarez and Ryan Blackinton croon their crisp harmonies, finishing each other's sentences and riffs, nearly symmetrical as they perform atop their pedestals for the animal woman.

How heartless record labels used to be!

Searching through old files at work for something, I came across this. Best letter ever.

8th March 1966

Would you please release J-- B-- S-- from their contract. The person to write to is Mr. H, -----, Herts.

The group may have originally been contracted through J-- F-- who I believe recently tried to kill his wife and is now in gaol. I have no proof that this is so except that no one has been able to trace him this last couple of months. I know we haven't taken up the option for J-- F-- 's production contract so I don't think we need worry about his particular circumstances whatever they may be.

Haaa.

ring ring...

Hanging on the Telephone - The Nerves

RIP Misshapes

A little belatedly, RIP Misshapes. All snarky Gawker-ing aside, thanks for the great times, great memories and amazing friends I made there. Summer/autumn 2005 at Luke & Leroy's was fucking legendary.




My NY nightlife. *Nostalgic sigh*

Cogito Ergo Scribo

I have been mulling over this post on the Penguin Blog (inspired by this slightly depressing Guardian article - though the comments section is worth checking out) since I read it a couple of weeks ago, and I'm not sure I'm any closer to coming to a conclusion.

Recently, when I've been introduced to new people or have been talking to people I haven't seen in a long time, the inevitable questions comes up:

"So, what do you do now?"

I clear my throat and glance at my shoes and look around the room and come up with a variation on:

"Umm well I'm still at the record label, temping - only meant to be a two week placement in January and now it's September, haha! [Insert awkward pause as they smile politely.] And, umm, kind of freelance writing on the side" - the last sentence of which usually gets somewhat swallowed, as I hurry to say - "but I'm trying to find a proper job as well."

What does any of that mean? Why do I mumble when it comes to writing? Half the time it's because I want the conversation off me and back on to them (I have a knack for turning people's questions back on themselves and thus avoiding having to talk about myself much) - and people tend to jump on the writing thing and start talking about it. Perhaps it's embarrassment, that I'd dare to call my paltry efforts "writing" and thus myself a "writer"? The Siouxsie Sioux article came out this week (note to self: scan and upload) and a colleague who saw it commented that "now I could call myself a real music journalist." Of course I'm not going to. Not after one music interview would I have thought to call myself that, and not after however many I've done now. It's still just "freelance-mumble-writing"...

Thinking among my friends, there are a few who write: blogs, blurbs, books, short stories (two of whom have even won competitions for their stories, smart cookies that they are) - but I don't know if they'd actually class themselves as "writers". It seems like a majority of the commenters on the Guardian piece say they don't want to be a writer for the sake of being a "writer" - they write because they'd go crazy if they didn't. Because they have to. I suppose I'm the same, although perhaps lazier. I'd go nuts if I couldn't daydream and work ideas in my head, and I do eventually get them into some shape and form and enjoy escaping to the Neverneverland where I go when I write. But even just writing this post about writing feels - I don't know, kind of... presumptuous. And a little like revealing too much of myself.

A lot of the blogs I read (*cough*lurk on*cough*) are about writing (I was going to say 'by writers', but then that brings us back to the same old argument) but I can never bring myself to turn this blog all about whatever personal writing projects I have on the go because - well, I just don't feel good enough. Cogito ergo scribo doesn't necessarily become scribo ergo scriptor.

I guess in the end there's not really one easy answer. People are going to call themselves writers if that's what they feel and believe they are, whether they've been published or not. As for me, I'll continue to call myself a jack of all trades, and daydream and doodle and procrastinate like hell and wait until the last possible minute to do freelance assignments and be perfectly happy that I haven't landed myself with a silly label like "writer."

diamond in the rough

So technically this isn't procrastination, as I've already mentioned before that there's a small Joy Division-related project going on, but - well, pissing around on the interweb this evening I came to the conclusion that although there's a lot of shit on youtube, but sometimes you come across some real gems:

As Planned

I was flicking through an old notebook earlier and a copy of this poem fell out. It's not one of my favourite O'Haras, but I'm just kind of in this mood at the moment so it feels pretty apt.

As Planned - Frank O'Hara
After the first glass of vodka
you can accept just about anything
of life even your own mysteriousness
you think it is nice that a box
of matches is purple and brown and is called
La Petite and comes from Sweden
for they are words that you know and that
is all you know words not their feelings
or what they mean and you write because
you know them not because you understand them
because you don't you are stupid and lazy
and will never be great but you do
what you know because what else is there?