So I hate it when people make that sniggering noise whenever they hear me play any kind of music, before start giving me lectures on how wrong I was to think that was even remotely a good piece of music. I hate talking music of any kind with people, unless I am there to win. (He-he.)
Music is a survival game, everyone has to win in that battle field of beat, rhythm, lyrics and tunes. Once you lose you are a lamb in the frock, you are a follower without definitive taste and philosophy.
Everyone is fighting for life in such matters;
you couldn't tell the difference between clarinet and soprano oboe,
you didn't know that tune was a remix of a pop song from 90s, rather than a "cover" of that tune,
you heard some line into a mondegreen and thought it was about a dude with one leg and a broken heart, while it really was a song about a teenage kid screwing every girl in sight,
you erroneously consider a guitarist to be genius while he really was just a Jimi impersonator,
What the hell, there is no winning, I am suffocated and there is not even a smallest room for me to actually enjoy music.
So when Ben started giving me how I should not like Scooter I was ready to leg it. Didn't want to fight a 18 yrs old pretty washer upper over stupid DJs. (And my saying of, "Scooter is NOT a DJ, it's a 3 men band," did not make Ben back off.)
Honestly, I love Scooter and that's that. I am not interested in the genre of techno, or hardcore, or whatever the names I never even heard of. Stop telling me that Scooter is not Happy Hardcore, because they just are! And they are a band!!
And Ben went on criticizing Scooter on the basis of the fact that they did not follow the fashions on techno variation as all other "DJs" made all drug crazy young Britons to follow and warship.
"I don't care about your history of so called rave and all that, I am too old for that anyway. I just want to see them perform. In fact they are coming to Hammersmith in March, taking a part in some dance event."
I said to Ben, half giving up.
"Which day? I might be on holiday."
Ben replies.
"Maybe not, then I want to go. Hey, we can go there together."
A-what? Oh, no, no, no. I am not going to a rave with a 18 yrs old pretty (and thin) washer upper who grew up with Eurobeat and amphetamine being a norm. I am just a Scooter fan. We do not mesh well there. And I am sure he will repeatedly ask me there why I am not taking any pills, and wonders off before I answer him, and that would be quite annoying for me.
Turned out he IS on a holiday with his folks (awww, how cute is THAT?) and can't make it anyway. That's good. I mean, he is nice enough and all but it is rather sad if I actually went there with someone like that. It is sad enough that I am going there at all.
Thursday 28 February 2008
Love Thy Wheels
I was shopping around for something the other day, and this is something they said to sell certain products.
*Offers safe handling.
*Excellent grip at low temperatures, even with a light covering...
*Eye-catching tread and sidewall design make P2500 ideal for personalising small to medium sized...
*Improved comfort and lower noise levels add to the pleasure...
*The reduced rolling resistance.
*Comfort. Relaxed.
*Performance. P3000 provides excellent grip and drivability.
*Safety. P3000 is predictable and forgiving in nature, conferring a strong feeling of security
OK, I edited out some words at the end, but still, these descriptions of tyres sound vastly of sexual innuendoes.
Helmut Newton once did AutoErotica and that was laughable, even though I do comprehend the connection between automobiles and sex. Yet, I feel more comfortable using the word "sexy" to describe food than using that to cars.
What is it that people see in cars that reminds them of sex? I certainly cannot see cars serving the imagery of manhood, and that's ridiculous. Having a Land Rover with 4000cc emission does not mean you are well hang. I don't see any appeal to it. Then, what? Money? Style? Fashion? A confided space? What is it?
Never had a boyfriend who owned a car, never even dated one. I am not sure what does that say. Am I avoiding something? Do I enjoy being the one with car? Is that what it is wrong with me?
Bought new front tyres. I am happy now, and there is nothing wrong with that.
*Offers safe handling.
*Excellent grip at low temperatures, even with a light covering...
*Eye-catching tread and sidewall design make P2500 ideal for personalising small to medium sized...
*Improved comfort and lower noise levels add to the pleasure...
*The reduced rolling resistance.
*Comfort. Relaxed.
*Performance. P3000 provides excellent grip and drivability.
*Safety. P3000 is predictable and forgiving in nature, conferring a strong feeling of security
OK, I edited out some words at the end, but still, these descriptions of tyres sound vastly of sexual innuendoes.
Helmut Newton once did AutoErotica and that was laughable, even though I do comprehend the connection between automobiles and sex. Yet, I feel more comfortable using the word "sexy" to describe food than using that to cars.
What is it that people see in cars that reminds them of sex? I certainly cannot see cars serving the imagery of manhood, and that's ridiculous. Having a Land Rover with 4000cc emission does not mean you are well hang. I don't see any appeal to it. Then, what? Money? Style? Fashion? A confided space? What is it?
Never had a boyfriend who owned a car, never even dated one. I am not sure what does that say. Am I avoiding something? Do I enjoy being the one with car? Is that what it is wrong with me?
Bought new front tyres. I am happy now, and there is nothing wrong with that.
Tuesday 26 February 2008
How Much is the Duckie in the Window??
So, I have a little obsession over some birds. Not many people know this because I don't tell them, it is kind of silly to come out confessing the fondness for ingenuously cute things like them. And people didn't want to know about what I have secretly liked anyway. Who cares this one collects famous grouse, or punky, or anything of the sort.
I've always liked the whole idea of bath ducks, but never liked things dipping in the same bath water with myself, as the result of my peculiar phobia, so have never owned any duck. Then I came across this glorious collections of ducks, while getting lost looking for a mussles restaurant in Bruges. They were spectacular swatches of patterns and styles in the forms of plastic ducks, and were expensive. Now, something this expensive and dizzy are clearly not for floating on the surface of water mixed with human grime. They belonged to nice display shelves, or even in galleries.
I desperately wanted one, but it felt like a barren to purchase a bath duck out of that many, and I certainly could not afford to buy the entire clan.
Since then I was head over heels hooked on rubber ducks of many kinds.
Ducks were expensive enough to be bought as a small to medium gift. How I then wished that I had a friend who would buy me a duck, and how was I somber to determine the non-existence of such person.
I am so sad and losery, don't even have a friend who would buy me any gift, let alone silly, but super gift like a rubber duck in colours or costumes.
Then, one day, a packet arrives at my door, and there it was; my very first bath duck, sitting on other even nicer items of presents. Bang in the middle of the core of my desire, how did you know??? Someone clearly read my mind, or was actually looking through my pictures in here.
I will never guess how you did it, but, I just have to tell you, over and over, how happy you made me, and the duck is now sitting on my screen. Thank youuu!!
I've always liked the whole idea of bath ducks, but never liked things dipping in the same bath water with myself, as the result of my peculiar phobia, so have never owned any duck. Then I came across this glorious collections of ducks, while getting lost looking for a mussles restaurant in Bruges. They were spectacular swatches of patterns and styles in the forms of plastic ducks, and were expensive. Now, something this expensive and dizzy are clearly not for floating on the surface of water mixed with human grime. They belonged to nice display shelves, or even in galleries.
I desperately wanted one, but it felt like a barren to purchase a bath duck out of that many, and I certainly could not afford to buy the entire clan.
Since then I was head over heels hooked on rubber ducks of many kinds.
Ducks were expensive enough to be bought as a small to medium gift. How I then wished that I had a friend who would buy me a duck, and how was I somber to determine the non-existence of such person.
I am so sad and losery, don't even have a friend who would buy me any gift, let alone silly, but super gift like a rubber duck in colours or costumes.
Then, one day, a packet arrives at my door, and there it was; my very first bath duck, sitting on other even nicer items of presents. Bang in the middle of the core of my desire, how did you know??? Someone clearly read my mind, or was actually looking through my pictures in here.
I will never guess how you did it, but, I just have to tell you, over and over, how happy you made me, and the duck is now sitting on my screen. Thank youuu!!
Tuesday 19 February 2008
Ben
Ben is a student / washer-upper. He is tall and skinny, a pretty boy of 18 year old. His complexion is pale, and he has dark hair which is ashy than jetty, and has greyish blue eyes; typical Irish look, I'd say. He has Beatle length hair with a beenie on top. Oh, and did I mention he is skinny?
He washes dishes in fashion, he's very typical of youth and Brits, and he mumbles so nobody can hear him. Ben is probably popular, looking at his face and taste in clothing, and the fact that he seems to know every trivia of every subject, and he is probably a real nice guy regardless of me not knowing so for sure as I never understood the half of the things he said.
I always tell him that he is pretty, as I am way too much older than him, and I am a photographer in nature. I don't look at pretty men and drool, it is quite the opposite in fact. but he still blushes a little when I say this. I hope he does not think I am hitting on him, that would be creepy and almost illegal.
Ben disappeared for a week, everyone was worried about him, as was told he was unwell. Oh, poor Ben, is he OK?
Then he comes back with a new hair do. It is almost shaven, or whatever the newest term of cutting hair with various equipment, it is just really, really short. I went passed him a few times and kept saying,
"Oh, sorry, didn't know it was you,"
He looked so different. And everyone kind of reacted that way, and poor Ben took it rather badly.
One day I was standing next to Ben, and we were sort of sharing the moment of silence, where one felt like being really honest for no apparent reason, and I blatantly went with it.
"Ben, do you know what you look like?"
Ben looked at me by rolling his big eyes.
"You look like one of these Jewish people in Nazi concentration camp."
Ben then flipped and said, basically, that it is so nice talking to someone with intellect, he cannot get enough of me yammering.
I am sorry Ben, I have watched "BENT" too many times, and it was really a complement in my very bad way; I am jealous of your skinniness, and I thought Clive Owen was bloody hot, let alone Allan Cummings. It really was a praise. You may look like you could use extra pound or two on you, but that will come on naturally in time, so Ben, it really was not taking the piss. You are pretty all the way, man.
He washes dishes in fashion, he's very typical of youth and Brits, and he mumbles so nobody can hear him. Ben is probably popular, looking at his face and taste in clothing, and the fact that he seems to know every trivia of every subject, and he is probably a real nice guy regardless of me not knowing so for sure as I never understood the half of the things he said.
I always tell him that he is pretty, as I am way too much older than him, and I am a photographer in nature. I don't look at pretty men and drool, it is quite the opposite in fact. but he still blushes a little when I say this. I hope he does not think I am hitting on him, that would be creepy and almost illegal.
Ben disappeared for a week, everyone was worried about him, as was told he was unwell. Oh, poor Ben, is he OK?
Then he comes back with a new hair do. It is almost shaven, or whatever the newest term of cutting hair with various equipment, it is just really, really short. I went passed him a few times and kept saying,
"Oh, sorry, didn't know it was you,"
He looked so different. And everyone kind of reacted that way, and poor Ben took it rather badly.
One day I was standing next to Ben, and we were sort of sharing the moment of silence, where one felt like being really honest for no apparent reason, and I blatantly went with it.
"Ben, do you know what you look like?"
Ben looked at me by rolling his big eyes.
"You look like one of these Jewish people in Nazi concentration camp."
Ben then flipped and said, basically, that it is so nice talking to someone with intellect, he cannot get enough of me yammering.
I am sorry Ben, I have watched "BENT" too many times, and it was really a complement in my very bad way; I am jealous of your skinniness, and I thought Clive Owen was bloody hot, let alone Allan Cummings. It really was a praise. You may look like you could use extra pound or two on you, but that will come on naturally in time, so Ben, it really was not taking the piss. You are pretty all the way, man.
Wednesday 6 February 2008
Peach Time, AGAIN
My ultimate idle, my axis of worship, my hero, has been arrested AGAIN today. Fucking narcotics. He even did time and came out only 3 months ago. I fucking hate drugs, and all of those who cannot know how to live in control, rather than leaning on something to lead you into the ocean of mess. I hate those who cannot get hard-on without manufactured porn, and I hate those who cannot feel life without soul contaminating substances, and I hate those who let us down despite the fucking brilliant talent that is so rare and should be praised for rest of our history. What a fucking waste. What a fucking shame.
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