|
Friday 7 February 2003
Just been interviewed for the UKC radio station. Sweet. Now I'm famous, I'm off to kill myself. (On account of rock soc live music event night tonight - EEEEEEK!) Sunday 9 February 2003 On a poster:
In print: "DON'T ATTACK IRAQ!"
I am being stalked by the song "Danger! High Voltage!" I never have any knowledge of recently released music, apart from the odd track the DJ at the Beercart plays. I don't listen to the radio, no one inflicts it on me, and I don't spend enough time in the sort of shops where chart music gets played to take it in. (Which isn't entirely unconnected to the general badness of chart music.) But on Thursday night, I went to Studio 41 to see some bands. For two quid, it was not a bad deal - seven bands played, and although two of them were jazzy, there were two well-known-by-Canterbury's-standards groups (No Half Measures, ska-mongers who I've seen twice before, and Digital Fish, who have the best logo ever - a fish with a barcode for a body! - and keep e-mailing me, asking for promotion on the rock soc mailing list). The opening band began with a cover of "The Bad Touch", which couldn't be a bad thing, and the final group, whose female singer made Sleeve suddenly possess enthusiasm for handing out fliers for our live music night the next day, so he could score cool points with her, in the interest of eventually scoring with her (due to the simple fact that she was a female singer), did a bunch of funchie cover versions, including Republica's "Ready To Go" (a song I believed everyone else to have forgotten), "Hella Good" by No Doubt, and a version of "I Think We're Alone Now" suitable for headbanging. But at the end of their performance, the singer changed places with the drummer, an extremely large bloke, dressed in school uniform, who was cheered towards the microphone under the name of "Tuck Shop". (Such cheesiness is entirely typical of anything involving Christchurch students. This is not a Bad Thing, since it's entirely preferable to the bitterness and cynicism characteristic of UKC students, but it's nonetheless a Thing.) And he performed this song that went "Danger, danger! High voltage!" Since I thought it sounded really eighties (I don't know why since, come to think of it, it's more 70s), I assumed it was an 80s song that hadn't been present in the CD collection of the DJ who did the sorely-missed-80s night. But the next day, for no particular reason Bryn started telling me about this advert that promotes the different shows on Cartoon Network. It uses a different song for each show, most of which he liked, except the one for "Batman Of The Future", which was his least favourite song ever. "Which is?" I prompted. "Danger, danger. High voltage!" he sang. This was coincidence enough - the song, as it happens, is "retro", rather than actually retro - but it came out a couple of months ago - not recently enough to be on everyone's mind. And yet, the following morning, Soppygit came into my room, and for no reason at all, asked if I knew the song that went "Danger, danger! High voltage, high voltage!" And to make matters worse, Annie's just mentioned it in her Livejournal! In case you haven't guessed, I decided against killing myself after all on Friday, and continued to make a playlist for the evening, since the two people who were to DJ that night only know gothique musique and would happily play Metallica all night without further guidance, respectively. After my singular lecture, I went to Darwin Dining Hall, where the gig was to be held. (It's not used as a dining hall anymore, so it's not as pants as it sounds). I'd told everyone to turn up at 5, but at 3, there were rock soc Chris and Adrian, shifting chairs (with the help of some random people). Since I was half-expecting no one to bother to turn up at all (since I'd done all the organising and just told people what to do) I was well impressed, especially since Adrian wasn't even going to be at the gig, due to being in Sheffield instead. Then, a couple of minutes later, Dale and Iain came along as well. In other words, it all went wonderfully to start with. Sarah The Vice Goth was very devoted to her job as Door Dudess. Tall John, Lawrence, Ramsay, his friend who always wears Adidas trousers and probably other people I've forgotten turned up early and helped out. The equipment worked after minimum fiddling. The bands began. And not one, but TWO of my lecturers turned up uninvited! (Though of course they were most welcome.) And then it all went crazy. It took me several hours to eat a tube of Fruit Pastilles, which I can normally do in five minutes. Everyone wanted to talk to me at once. There were people there from the radio station to interview the headlining band. My phone kept ringing and I kept having to rush outside to actually answer it. I wrote a million cheques and although there were a million people there, they'd all got in for free by the virtue of helping out or Being With The Band. The bar staff got annoyed with me (for promising the bands free drinks). The bubble machine didn't work. The smoke machine didn't work. The Sword II didn't work. The blitzer had vanished without a trace. We needed to put black and yellow hazard tape on the wires, or we'd get sued. The Stupid Union - who was supposed to provide it - didn't have any. I offered to get my gaffa tape - would that do? At home, since I didn't have much left, I grabbed my gaffa tape clothes too. I found the blitzer under my bed. What else had I forgotten? Someone else had provided some gaffa tape - but that wouldn't do either. Would Anna The Goth's red and white tape be ok? It would take her hours to find though. But she'll go. But she doesn't have to. But she'll go. But she doesn't have to, it's not worth worry about. No, she'll go. It was all too much, like those nightmares I've been having about the event for the last three months, where I can't get stop doing annoying tasks and get a moment's rest. Half way through the event, I just crashed. Luckily, Anna The Goth looked after me for the rest of the night, the other goths joined her in attempting to cheer me up, and the night ended up going pretty well in the end. We didn't make a profit, but all the equipment started working again, and everyone seemed to enjoy at least some of the bands. And Soppygit had a Very Good Night. When Bryn found out, he sang, "Soppygit and (person) sitting in a tree! S-h-i-g-" "S-h-i-g?" I asked. "Shigging?" Bryn giggled and attempted to correct himself. "Soppygit and (person) sitting in a tree! S-h-a-g-i-n-g!" You've got to love dyslexic people. For the next two days, all Bryn and I did was play with "Gabriel Knight 3" (oo-er), go to Sainsbury's (where we were served by Lex - as I'd never seen her out of metaller uniform before, this was quite amusing) and get rained on in central Canterbury, as we didn't know what time Bryn's train home would leave, and, through sheer misfortune, we reached the station a minute after had left, and we had to wait an hour for the next one. Tuesday 11 March 2003 On Sunday night, I had a funchiely weird if equally creepy dream: My family lived in Kent, and for one day, my parents hired Liz o Swarf to teach me English. While she was there, I flicked through a copy of Smash Hits magazine, because I wanted to write to the agony aunt with an enquiry about System Of A Down. Half way through, there was an advert for recently released CDs, including, to my astonishment, a new Swarf single! Dad had a friend of his from Russia come to stay with us. He was about forty, but I got on well with him, and we went for a walk around the UKC campus. But I got a phonecall from Charlie - who I was supposed to be meeting in Keynes bar - and before I'd finished speaking to him, Mum phoned, angry, since she suspected I had Evil Intentions with Russian Bloke and I hadn't sent off my postgraduate application forms. Dad was going to die in a few days, since he was gradually losing all his blood through his foot. Since there were several things he had yet to do in his life, he set about doing them. One of them was him and all his friends going to an arena in Russia for a big firework display. For some reason, I wasn't invited, so I stood in the car park outside, watching. I was surprised how warm it was, considering it was the middle of the night and in January. The next day, Dad mentioned that if he had some chainmail, he'd live, because its weight would allow him to sit in a position so that he'd stop losing blood. So I called Bryn and asked him if Dad could borrow his. When I woke up (at 10.30, due to staying up until 2.30 the previous night playing "Gabriel Knight 3" - oops) I found I'd had a phonecall from the News And Star. They wanted to interview me! Considering that, before Friday, I'd only been interviewed twice in my entire life, the fact that I've been interviewed twice in the space of three days, about two completely unrelated matters, is slightly mad. The second matter was the publication of one of my poems in the National Poetry Anthology. Since I had been warned that United Press would contact my local newspapers, it didn't come as a huge suprise, bearing in mind the lack of newsworthy events in Cumbria. But it was still cool. But alas! Just like during my interviews about my GCSE and A Level grades, I managed to give the most boring least newsworthy answers imaginable. Did I mention the cool-but-true fact, that I'd been writing vast tracts of words for the last seventeen years, and this was my first publication beyond my school magazine and Kaleidoscope? No. When they asked, "Do you write poetry often?" I said, "Not really - only when inspiration strikes. I sometimes do song parodies, but mostly stories." Gah! I texted Bryn with the good news, upon which he phoned, with the bad news - that he hadn't got the job he'd just applied for. Then I phoned home - only to hear that my grandad had been discovered lying on the floor of his flat, the victim of a stroke. Luckily, he'd been found only shortly after it happened - he could have easily not been found for a few days. He suffered a minor one about ten years ago, and I don't yet know of his current condition - presumably it's not critical - but he is ninety four.
1. Instant karma or what?
The rock soc meeting was poooooo. All of three out of the eleven committee members turned up, along with Bryn, who was staying with me for the night. Luckily, I didn't have anything much to say anyway, so we spent half an hour discussing what would happen if Bryn became manager of The Venue (the position's up for grabs, so he's going to apply for it, doubtful as his chances are of getting it), before abandoning ship. Well, sofas. The Beercart, by contrast, was gute, for me, anyway. John was DJing, which resulted in four System Of A Down songs being played in the space of two and a half hours, which is really odd, since I've never dreamed about System Of A Down before, but on the day I do, they plague me! He also played "Ravenous" by Arch Enemy, my new favourite song, and "Welcome To Paradise" by Green Day which I love dearly. I finally spoke to Jess Of The Insanely Small (17") Corset properly (having seen her 2347203423 times) and discovered her to be cool. I also spoke to some other relatively unfamiliar people at unprecedented length, got two phone numbers (in entire innocence - I just like getting phone numbers cos it makes me feel worth contacting), and heard beeploads of good gossip. Not really knowing what I should and shouldn't publicise, I'll simply forward you to some that's already been made public by James - here. It should be pointed out that Emily and the girl who snogged me a year ago are one and the same. Ah, it's good to finally be part of The Big Unhappy Incestuous Rock Soc Family. Also, there were loads of people in Rocky Horror costume present, which was fun, if Very Scary. Bryn and I had a nice night and morning, watching Buffy and spending a ridiculous amount of time theorising about what people would be called if everyone's gender was altered. For example, the Beatles would be Pauline McCartney, Georgina Harrison, Joan Lennon, and er, then we got a bit stuck. We were very pleased with Martin Manson and Alan Cooper. This is probably a good game to play in a pub if you get sick of Two Small Fish. (As patented by Zak: you take it in turns to say 'Two small fish' followed by the most surreal or otherwise amusing phrase you can think of. Like 'Two small fish and a barrel of lightbulbs' or 'Two small fish and The Philosopher's Stone'.) Thursday 13 February 2003 I received a message from GothicMatch saying: "Hello, just wondering if anyone else from my area who might want to chat." I investigated which tragicke Kentish town he originated from - to discover he was from Edinburgh! i.e. a place 500 miles away from Canterbury, meaning I am not even remotely from his area! Don't they teach Geography these days? (Actually, come to think of it, when I learnt Geography, they didn't teach us anything about places, it was all population pyramids and limestone formation and stoof.) But no, I shan't have mercy on him, since he includes, "I am looking for a girl who must be very sexy. Must wear leather and possibly have handcuffs and other equipment" in his profile. Later My grandad died. Still, I'm told he was happy on his final day of consciousness, because he'd found out my cousin was engaged. It seems to make sense: the family loses one member, but becomes set to gain another. My cousin's only a year older than me though. And his fiancé is younger! Eep! Also, I was worried that if Grandad recovered, he'd have to spend the rest of his days in a nursing home. Right up until the stroke (the second one - he had a minor one about a decade ago, upon, at the age of 84, attempting to play football with my brother), he had his own place - in later years, one where you could pull a cord if you needed help, but nevertheless, his own - and did everything for himself. As he got older, he couldn't walk very far, but he tried to anyway, and he refused to wear his hearing aid, meaning he always ended conversations "Goodbye Jonathan" when he spoke to me on the phone, and believed Bryn to be called Raymond. In other words, he was the quintessential stubborn old man, who would have loathed to spend his final months or years restricted and pampered. He had to die some day, so I'm grateful that it was under circumstances that suited him. Saturday 15 February 2003 Last night, I spent forty minutes torturing myself with Magic At Mungos (the cheese night, which doesn't have anything to do with St Mungo's Hospital For Magical Maladies - as far as we know), in order to ask the DJ at the end of the night what PA system he used, since Bryn was curious. And he didn't know! Blarg! After that, I had the most far-out dream ever. Los Angeles was in the middle of England, and I went there and met a girl who was just a head attached to some really long legs. Then I had sex with Bryn on a train. Then I found out my brother was promised to a second cousin of ours, but she'd got engaged to her grandfather instead. Tuesday 18 February 2003: Invasion Of The Daves I am glad the week o deth is over, though. Apart from my grandad and Marie's grandmother, my fish died, and between 6pm on Saturday evening and 11am on Sunday morning, THREE people on my friends list posted entries about someone dying. It was also the week of speaking to people I'd seen 234702343 times but never spoken to. On Monday, I spoke to Jess O The Insanely Small Corset (as previously mentioned), and on Saturday, at the Christchurch rock night, I spoke to Hatman, another Beercart regular, so called (by me, Klair and ickle Helen) because he always wears a ker-razy hat. Last night, Dave (Bryn's brother) came to the Beercart Arms for the first time ever. This strengthened my membership of The Big Unhappy Incestuous Rock Soc Family (tm) on the following grounds: Rock soc committee member Chris's ex-girlfriend is going out with rock soc committee member Sarah's ex-boyfriend. And my ex-boyfriend's brother spent the night with them. (Although not in *that* sense. At least, I don't *think* so, although I'd be interested to hear otherwise.) His presence, I decided, also completely and utterly upset the normal order of the universe:
* "Chop Suey" was not only not played directly after "Shinobi Vs Dragon Ninja" but *before* it. Bad and wrong!
Me: Your behaviour is scaring me.
"Argh!" I screamed, hastening to the other side of the pub, yelling "Argh!" at every person heading for the Table O Debauchery I'd just left. I had a brief conversation with Hatman and Tink, then remained in the (relatively) safe realm of the dancefloor for the rest of the night. A girl I don't know (as far as I can remember) danced gratefully with me in a corner when the crazed-moshpit-inducing songs came on. * And some evil old bloke groped me! Mykosbeep you, Dave! Other than that it was a brillig night. I don't know why, because when I first got there it was a case of "Who do I know? What do I say? I just wish I'd stayed home today!" But I was cracking endless dodgy jokes at the rock soc meeting; on the walk there, I was literally bouncing, to the extent of making Sleeve ask, "Who's got the tranquilisers?"; I heard loads of juicy gossip; and only common sense later prevented me from joining the moshpit, because I was soooo up for it. It turned out that the week of Actually Speaking To Familiar Faces For The First Time was not over either. For not only do my lecturers turn up to rock soc events, but the people I teach do as well! So I spoke to one of them (trying to sort out a taxi-share back to campus, as it was v. cold and Bryn was Without Jacket), and discovered that, coincidentally, he too was called Dave. Friday 21 February 2003 Ok. So I snogged a girl on Monday. But it was just for fun. I am straight! Straight straight straight straight straight! I've got nothing against gay or bi people - as little as I have against black people, hamsters and armchairs - but, as with all of those, I'm not one. All right, so I've kissed as many girls as I have boys - but that's only because I've been in some sort of a relationship for all my university life (even now, I'm not fully single), and owing to the fact that I'm straight, my kissing girls is just seen by my partner as me being silly, whereas kissing boys could be construed as harbouring desires for them. My subconscious, however, is clearly convinced that I'm a lesbian, and is trying to get the message through to my brain by giving me dodgy dreams. On Tuesday night, I dreamed I was snogging Abi. On Wednesday night, I dreamed I was working at an office building, and I met three really pleasant women who were lesbians, so I said I was one too and got off with one of them. Then, last night, I dreamed I was watching Stef and Daine having sex, and then I watched Stef and Steph at it as well. (Yes, very clever, especially since Steph is actually a lesbian - but why Stef? In all the time I've known her, she's been involved with someone of male persuasion.) I went into a school gym with Anna The Goth and four blokes (some of whom I knew). I said, "I've never seen anyone having sex before, but today I have twice!" Then two of the blokes started snogging, then the other two did, and then me and Anna did as well! In happier news, I went into Canterbury today and, as well as food, new smoke for the smoke machine, belated Valentine's chocolate for Soppygit and Jo, and hair dye, I bought new purple and black stripy tights (my old beloved ones have just become laddered), neon yellow and black stripy ones, yellow and black hazard tape, red and white hazard tape, and more grey gaffa tape. Is it just me, or when you've been out shopping, do you always want to use all your purchases as soon as you get home? And so I spent the next two hours adding tape to my now nearly-finished thoroughly blick pleather, top and cutting holes in my old purple and black stripy tights, which now look totally funchie when worn with fishnets underneath. Oh Mykos, look at me. I've started devoting vast amounts of time to fashion design. I really am gay, aren't I? (Actually, a little while ago, me and either Soppygit or Ibid - I can't remember which now - worked out why it's so hard to for girls with big breasts to find clothes that fit. Not only are most fashion designers men, but they're also often gay, meaning that they pay little attention to the curvaceous female form.) Oh well, at least my designs aren't completely insane yet. Last night, I got a text message from Zak saying, "Hey if u go 2 the venue can u get them 2 give u ne broken plastic uv glass plz cause I need 2 get a load. Thanks. 2 small fish in cyberwear." Monday 24 February 2003 Today, I got a bank statement. £223.08 had gone into my account. I didn't remember putting anything into it . . . so I phoned my dear Mama, to ask if she had any recollection of me doing so. She didn't, and insisted that I phoned the bank. So I did that. And they told me that, as I'd suspected, the money had been paid into the wrong account and they'd debit mine accordingly. Darn! I am just too honest! I could have been rich! Rich, I tells ya! Tuesday 25 February 2003 Bryn and I have this theory that there's only yea much love to go round for the rockers o Canterbury: when one couple seizes some, some other poor sods lose out. For, in the last few months, some v. soppy new couples have formed (yes, Abi and Matt, this means you two - I was v. impressed to see you sitting on opposite sides of the table last night, though and you're not the sole culprits) while every long-lived couple I know round here has brokened up! Me and Bryn, Sarah and Dave, Anna and Darren, and now Deaf and Stale as well! This week, I will die. I haven't slept very well for the last few days, thanks to an uncanny ability I've developed to take off clothes in my sleep and dreams where 1) my Mum was screaming at me for not being able to draw maps, 2) I was in a very scary (and non-existent) episode of Buffy and 3) my Dad was killing people. Sadly, I've just given my vast collection of sleeping p1llz I amassed last term to Anna because she needs them more than I do.
And I could seriously do with some sleep this week, because:
I want to go to indie night at The Venue tonight (as it's in The Lighthouse, which is a tolerable location, and I should advertise Indie-pendence), but right now, my head feels so fuzzy, I can't even bring myself to listen to Lacuna Coil through my headphones, so I'm thinking not. Woooooe! In happier news, Bryn stayed last night, and this morning we played "Gabriel Knight 3" while eating fudge my Mummy sent me. Ah, heaven. Wednesday 26 February 2003 Gah! My view of the world has been forever tainted! Yesterday, I found out - coincidentally, from two independent sources (Ang and a book called "Cut" by Patricia McCormick) - that in America, Connect Four pieces are red and black! And the board is yellow! Argh! Badness and wrongness! In Britain, the pieces are red and yellow, and the board is blue. Surely this is the only rightful way? Surely any other looks bizarre and unnatural? America. *shudders* It is a strange and worrying place. In other news, I really must learn to make my own clothes soon, as I have become incapable of watching Anime without lusting after teh keweliez outfitzzz!!! (This phenomenon probably extents to non-animated TV - it certainly happens for computer games - but since the only TV I watch is "Buffy", and its characters have developed darn weird taste in clothing over the last few seasons, I can still focus on the plot there.) Last night, I dreamed my family went to stay in a 120-room-house. I had a baby sibling, which my parents put in the most distant room of the house from their bedroom, so they could have sex without being able to hear it crying. Thursday 27 February 2003 Link stolen off Hazel. Interesting stuff - it makes me less scared to become a statistician and explains why "My Girlfriend's Girlfriend" keeps getting stuck in my head. It's simple, it's got really stupid lyrics *and* it's got a strong element of surprise to it - the way it stops just before the chorus and then sounds like it's gone up a tone. But at least the whole song sticks in my head. I bought a copy of the new-look Metal Hammer today. It's so cheesy it hurts, but it came with TWO free CDs and had an interview with Ministry in it, so it had to be acquired. Anyway, it contains this feature where they give song lyrics to various rawk stars and they have to identify what the song is and who it's by. (Yeah, it's ever so slightly lacking in journallistic credibility, but you know, TWO free CDs!) I completely failed to identify "Rollin'" by Limp Bizkit, despite being tortured by it frequently at The Venue in days o yore, and "Sickness" by Disturbed, which I've had to listen to every week for the last year, and others I should have known, but I recognised the "My Girlfriend's Girlfriend" lyrics right away! And yoj! I found my Nine Inch Nails badge, which had been missing for days, on the pavement, a few metres away from my house, still in fine condition!
Bryn: I'd better go now, because we've been on the phone for forty five minutes.
|