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Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Observed frustrations
Been a funny old couple of days in London for me recently. Being witness to some very odd behaviour by members of the public. We all tend to get frustrated at minuscule things, sometimes unfortunately I take it out on my colleagues at work between 9-11am each morning. Until of course coffee kicks in or I feel the sadistic pleasure of ripping the last remaining shred of decency from someone during that time.
As I subject myself to the public mainstream my observations have me a little jumpy lately. I feel the zombie's are getting a little restless. Brain's are off the menu and hormonal badgers the chef's speciality.
Sunday 10:43am.
I found myself in ASDA buying more ingredients on a hangover, my research has found it to be common that I find the following in my basket.
Finally getting home in my monkey suit, I contemplate quickly my work-day. It seemed to be a cross between a safari in the Congo hunting crazed midget water buffaloes and the need to commit suicide by ritual paper cutting to my nether-regions while chanting Sting albums. Maybe it was because I was out of nicotine? I head over to Dave's on the bus, one of London's finest red go-go mobiles. Close to the jump-point for Dave's an elderly man from the Caribbean hops on with a jovial personality. I can't understand a word he is saying so I presume he's drunk to boot. Way to go my mon!
He starts speaking jive - 'You dun know who da hell I's am.. mon... blah blah.' The bus driver is taking none of his Beegee's back catalogue and is refusing entry. Rasta-bob continues and continues and continues.. jiving on the spot, rapping like Chuck Dee in dreadlocks with a hint of NWA, because I definitely heard 'Fuck tha police'. I feel inclined just to get up and pay for his ticket, but realise I just spent the last coins on some Marlboro's and a packet of extra-fruit bubblicious (Mastication for the nation!). Rasta-bob seems to be now jigging on the spot arguing with the driver and I'm feeling a tense wave of 'Hurry the fuck-up' around me by the passengers. I smell this breeze of stale perfumed Tampax air rush passed me and a stocky short cropped middle aged woman rushes to the front of the bus and confronts Rasta-bob. She's polite.. Rasta-bob isn't, he's fired up with on a boombastic rhyme and she's hurried up with a hormonal imbalance. Within 20 seconds the debate turns vicious. I stand and everyone turns looks at me...
It's funny that feeling, where you throw on your invisible blue cape and you have that ' Time to save the god damn day' tune coursing through your veins. I try to wince in the stomach with hydraulics and pigeon out the chest to form the ill-fated hero stance. All I am succeeding in doing however is the look of a year long constipation and a half baked impression of an Elvis move with one knee. Fortunately for me, Rasta-bob takes flight with a series of Bob Marley songs and asking the woman to show him her badge. I could use that line in a bar next time so I pen it down and sit back next to the cute Indian girl with a moustache.
I say "Wow Monday Blues" but alas it doesn't seem heard over the murmurs of 'Nice one lady' from the audience as the lady returns to the back of the bus saying something about having 'kids to feed'.
The air returns to a thin crust of stale vomit and sweat, inappropriately bad braking and the random ding-ding-ding's.
Tuesday 8:39am.
Every morning I am faced with the entire task of getting to work through a series of sardine cramped body presses. I am sometimes lucky to be crushed between a couple of women. Soft breasts crushed into my spine with my crutch pressed up against the higher recess of a 5 foot 3 inch blond and the warm smile of joy and daydream. That is a good day, hell, some would interpret that to be a perfect start to the day, I'll concur!
Today however my balls seemed to have worked there way accidentally into the knuckles of a man grasping his bag and I'm getting hot air blown on the back of my neck by some bastard who is taller then me, and good hope he's carrying a banana in his pocket because I dread to think otherwise.
I sweat all the way to Waterloo, get off in haste and walk my way to the Waterloo to Bank underground line. I arrive at the end of a moving queue which infrequently stops with banana-boy stepping in front of me. A middle aged well spoken English chap turns and says to the cucumber-kid.
'There's a queue don't you know.'
'Yes I know I'm at the end of it'
'No you are not, you stepped in front of four people.' The toff looking my way for acknowledgement, I just have this smile on my face of bemusement and not really caring about the situation. Hell the last two days have been entertaining.. so bring it.. banker boys!
They then go at it with verbal assault telling each other in polite circumstances how to fuck-off and jam appendages into their orifices. I finally pipe up behind them as it does suddenly go off on a very childish tangent as I heard 'No, you are' come from one of them.
"Now now boys.." I say with a smile.
They stop.... red faced and open up there respective papers and read on about who Paris was jerking off this week.
Smiling broadly I utter aloud "Tuesday tantrums" - this time I see a girl smile my way who actually heard the call and a couple of muffled guffaws.
I wink at her and tuck my blue cape back in my pants, as salami-steve is now nestled in behind the toff and life returns back to the informal.
As I subject myself to the public mainstream my observations have me a little jumpy lately. I feel the zombie's are getting a little restless. Brain's are off the menu and hormonal badgers the chef's speciality.
Sunday 10:43am.
I found myself in ASDA buying more ingredients on a hangover, my research has found it to be common that I find the following in my basket.
- 1 garlic bread (knowing full well it'll be forgotten about in the oven and burnt to a cinder like last weeks)
- 1 large bottle of juice (usually involving 3 different varieties of fruit which 1 of them I hate with a passion)
- 1 bottle of Chicken Tonight (no chicken to go with it)
- 2 large slightly impressive sweet red peppers (they looked weird but delicious.. they will probably rot)
- 1 loaf of bread - brown (I hate brown bread)
- 6 cans of tuna (I have 10 already, maybe things will get nuclear)
- 1 mop head (last week it was a toilet paper holder)
- My research continues
Having a dazed and confused glazed stare at the passersby underneath a baseball cap,I hear a sudden crash of twisted metal behind me. My sphincter clenched with savage primal instincts prone to an attack by an oncoming column of dog food tins, I pivot to see two ladies (equally as wide as their trolleys) within a heated frenzy. Each trying to either fly or communicate with bizarre but underrated peacock language used by ancient Aztecs.
I then realise it seemed so loud and crazy in the store one moment ago. Now it seems that I have been thrust into a gladiatorial battle arena and the acoustics of their little argument are suddenly amplified for the masses. I'm even sure the zombie soundtrack on the airways above me has been abruptly halted. Where the hell are the camera crews, dog's and search lights. Is this an invasion. I love the feeling of lesser brain activity on a Sunday morning plus the added hangover... and an overactive imagination.
Their tiff was something to do with who had the right of way in the aisle. To tell you the truth though folks, one of them was going to have to back the hell up, 'beep beep beep' style. It ended 30 seconds later with both of them turning their junk-food hi-carb chariots around in an acute three point turn and wobble off in different directions.
"Damn Sunday drivers..." I slurred to myself which didn't raise any hint of a smile with my queued com padres. But I did get a 'Hi how are you doing' from the check-out dude, so I raised my hand for the high and got the five. Whip-lash!
Monday 7:35pm.Finally getting home in my monkey suit, I contemplate quickly my work-day. It seemed to be a cross between a safari in the Congo hunting crazed midget water buffaloes and the need to commit suicide by ritual paper cutting to my nether-regions while chanting Sting albums. Maybe it was because I was out of nicotine? I head over to Dave's on the bus, one of London's finest red go-go mobiles. Close to the jump-point for Dave's an elderly man from the Caribbean hops on with a jovial personality. I can't understand a word he is saying so I presume he's drunk to boot. Way to go my mon!
He starts speaking jive - 'You dun know who da hell I's am.. mon... blah blah.' The bus driver is taking none of his Beegee's back catalogue and is refusing entry. Rasta-bob continues and continues and continues.. jiving on the spot, rapping like Chuck Dee in dreadlocks with a hint of NWA, because I definitely heard 'Fuck tha police'. I feel inclined just to get up and pay for his ticket, but realise I just spent the last coins on some Marlboro's and a packet of extra-fruit bubblicious (Mastication for the nation!). Rasta-bob seems to be now jigging on the spot arguing with the driver and I'm feeling a tense wave of 'Hurry the fuck-up' around me by the passengers. I smell this breeze of stale perfumed Tampax air rush passed me and a stocky short cropped middle aged woman rushes to the front of the bus and confronts Rasta-bob. She's polite.. Rasta-bob isn't, he's fired up with on a boombastic rhyme and she's hurried up with a hormonal imbalance. Within 20 seconds the debate turns vicious. I stand and everyone turns looks at me...
It's funny that feeling, where you throw on your invisible blue cape and you have that ' Time to save the god damn day' tune coursing through your veins. I try to wince in the stomach with hydraulics and pigeon out the chest to form the ill-fated hero stance. All I am succeeding in doing however is the look of a year long constipation and a half baked impression of an Elvis move with one knee. Fortunately for me, Rasta-bob takes flight with a series of Bob Marley songs and asking the woman to show him her badge. I could use that line in a bar next time so I pen it down and sit back next to the cute Indian girl with a moustache.
I say "Wow Monday Blues" but alas it doesn't seem heard over the murmurs of 'Nice one lady' from the audience as the lady returns to the back of the bus saying something about having 'kids to feed'.
The air returns to a thin crust of stale vomit and sweat, inappropriately bad braking and the random ding-ding-ding's.
Tuesday 8:39am.
Every morning I am faced with the entire task of getting to work through a series of sardine cramped body presses. I am sometimes lucky to be crushed between a couple of women. Soft breasts crushed into my spine with my crutch pressed up against the higher recess of a 5 foot 3 inch blond and the warm smile of joy and daydream. That is a good day, hell, some would interpret that to be a perfect start to the day, I'll concur!
Today however my balls seemed to have worked there way accidentally into the knuckles of a man grasping his bag and I'm getting hot air blown on the back of my neck by some bastard who is taller then me, and good hope he's carrying a banana in his pocket because I dread to think otherwise.
I sweat all the way to Waterloo, get off in haste and walk my way to the Waterloo to Bank underground line. I arrive at the end of a moving queue which infrequently stops with banana-boy stepping in front of me. A middle aged well spoken English chap turns and says to the cucumber-kid.
'There's a queue don't you know.'
'Yes I know I'm at the end of it'
'No you are not, you stepped in front of four people.' The toff looking my way for acknowledgement, I just have this smile on my face of bemusement and not really caring about the situation. Hell the last two days have been entertaining.. so bring it.. banker boys!
They then go at it with verbal assault telling each other in polite circumstances how to fuck-off and jam appendages into their orifices. I finally pipe up behind them as it does suddenly go off on a very childish tangent as I heard 'No, you are' come from one of them.
"Now now boys.." I say with a smile.
They stop.... red faced and open up there respective papers and read on about who Paris was jerking off this week.
Smiling broadly I utter aloud "Tuesday tantrums" - this time I see a girl smile my way who actually heard the call and a couple of muffled guffaws.
I wink at her and tuck my blue cape back in my pants, as salami-steve is now nestled in behind the toff and life returns back to the informal.
LS at 2/28/2007 02:33:00 AM
0 comments
_,.>-^`^-<.,_,.>-^`^-<.,_,.>-^`^-<.,_,.>-^`^-<.,_,.>-^`^-<.,_,.>-^`^-<.,_,.>-^`^-<.,_,.>-^`^-<.,_,.>-^`
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Shivers
I’ve been contemplating Suicide But it really doesn’t suit my style So I think I’ll just act bored instead To contain the blood I could have shed She makes me feel so weary My heart is really on its knees
But I keep a poker face so well
That even my mother couldn’t tell
That my baby’s so vain
She is almost a mirror
And the sound of her name
Send a permanent shiver
Down my spine
Down my spine
Well I keep her photograph against my heart
Cause in my life she plays
A starring part
Our love could hold on cigarettes
There is no room for these cheap regrets
She makes me feel so weary
My heart is really on its knees
But I keep a poker face so well
That even my mother couldn’t tell
That my baby’s so vain
She is almost a mirror
And the sound of her name
Send a permanent shiver
Down my spine
Down my spine
Sends a permanent shiver down my spine
But I keep a poker face so well
That even my mother couldn’t tell
That my baby’s so vain
She is almost a mirror
And the sound of her name
Send a permanent shiver
Down my spine
Down my spine
Well I keep her photograph against my heart
Cause in my life she plays
A starring part
Our love could hold on cigarettes
There is no room for these cheap regrets
She makes me feel so weary
My heart is really on its knees
But I keep a poker face so well
That even my mother couldn’t tell
That my baby’s so vain
She is almost a mirror
And the sound of her name
Send a permanent shiver
Down my spine
Down my spine
Sends a permanent shiver down my spine
This song has not been played for a very long time in my headspace. I feel this only became apparent to me when DeeDee played his guitar the other night as we were trying to pen down some words to one of his songs. I had tried to think of other songs I knew at the time, and my brain much like a colander, I was unable to at the time. Alas, when I woke up Monday morning I started instantly singing, humming and whistling these lyrics all the way to work. Don't make any perplexing reason why I was so chipper after the weekend that flew me by.
I'm afraid I won't be able to release it from my skull. I will need to track down my catalogue of Screaming Jets on my IPOD, which I haven't switched on for over 6 months, and hope I have it saved. I'm yet to hear the original track by Nick Cave, but rather Dave Gleeson's version. Would you believe I requested this song once (many many moons ago) for my love at the time on Triple J. Remembering clearly, I was driving home from yet another 12 hour work-day in Sydney and all I could think about was her and this song. Did I just hear 'Awwwww's in the audience or was that dry-retching?
If you're asking why I keep posting these articles regarding songs? It's a pattern and I think a lot of people understand that music remind us of certain things in our past (click to read). Unfortunately a few songs remind me of very disillusioned clubs when I was young trying to look cool in my hood. I'm then suddenly struck with thoughts of how I learnt to dance like a white man. Then the image of my dad shaking his stuff comes into frame and I'm now lost for any further useless words. Unfortunately all men one day are going to be pitied by their own younger blood when you feel that you still have the balls for the "struttin' it" disco technique (I know you loved that linky).
I was going to post on my upcoming 'bearded man' project but alas that will have to wait until I get the creativity to adapt to the thought and start the project. At the moment Sam is by far jumping leaps and bounds ahead in a race to be Grizzly Adams.
Would you believe I wrote this while in an office meeting listening to my boss come out with some outrageous work orientated metaphors.
I'm afraid I won't be able to release it from my skull. I will need to track down my catalogue of Screaming Jets on my IPOD, which I haven't switched on for over 6 months, and hope I have it saved. I'm yet to hear the original track by Nick Cave, but rather Dave Gleeson's version. Would you believe I requested this song once (many many moons ago) for my love at the time on Triple J. Remembering clearly, I was driving home from yet another 12 hour work-day in Sydney and all I could think about was her and this song. Did I just hear 'Awwwww's in the audience or was that dry-retching?
If you're asking why I keep posting these articles regarding songs? It's a pattern and I think a lot of people understand that music remind us of certain things in our past (click to read). Unfortunately a few songs remind me of very disillusioned clubs when I was young trying to look cool in my hood. I'm then suddenly struck with thoughts of how I learnt to dance like a white man. Then the image of my dad shaking his stuff comes into frame and I'm now lost for any further useless words. Unfortunately all men one day are going to be pitied by their own younger blood when you feel that you still have the balls for the "struttin' it" disco technique (I know you loved that linky).
I was going to post on my upcoming 'bearded man' project but alas that will have to wait until I get the creativity to adapt to the thought and start the project. At the moment Sam is by far jumping leaps and bounds ahead in a race to be Grizzly Adams.
Would you believe I wrote this while in an office meeting listening to my boss come out with some outrageous work orientated metaphors.
"It's come home to roost" - was my personal favourite along with "Drilling down and thrashing it out" of which, I got slightly aroused amongst the group of women. Got any yourselves?
LS at 2/22/2007 03:01:00 AM
0 comments
_,.>-^`^-<.,_,.>-^`^-<.,_,.>-^`^-<.,_,.>-^`^-<.,_,.>-^`^-<.,_,.>-^`^-<.,_,.>-^`^-<.,_,.>-^`^-<.,_,.>-^`
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Ulivyoligema utalinywa
Your bed is the primary example of comfortability. Lately these weekends I seem to be missing planting my big ol' white ass upon it's queen. Suffice to say, my bed isn't one of the most delightful possessions I have. The springs of the mattress poke into your back and the bedding unit is on the verge of collapsing as it promotes screaming as its way of telling you. You can only imagine its symphony when it rarely gets tested with more than one individual within. Sure, buying a new one has always been on the agenda, but alas that is the lack of me surfacing and going "bed shopping" one bright sunny weekend morning. However, my bedding represents a lot of pillows and a duvet the size of a small country. Sleeping is presumably the best hobby one can have. Tally up the number of hours I can sleep on some weekends and you would probably fall sleep yourself.
Friday evening had me pub-crawling with some of my friends within Battersea discussing relevant topics in their life. A somewhat intriguing outlook established with them on Friday with an email asking them to 'Bring along an article to discuss'. 5 drunk men talking about politics, random acts of obtrusive behavior, growing a beard (my next blog), racism and why Horse thought a picture that Colleen McLoughlin had helped replicate made him gush. Obviously intriguing for some it ended up with me doing really bad party tricks. This went until I was called away on a late night rendezvous at midnight, and escaping the next morning at an unforgiving hour to meet up for breakfast to discuss the religion of drinking coffee through a very small hole.
Only a few brain cells were firing for me so early Saturday morning as I sat in front of a fry up which could only be described as inedible. The word's of Alan, said upon one frosty morn after a night of raving many years ago, should of been uttered before ordering said fry-up - 'I can only do one lettuce leaf'. Unfortunately I was designated food which slid on a plate, a coffee which was determined to pronounce itself to the world as mud and a very deep accented Scottish girl. Time eventually slid by as I shuffled off to a nearby Sainsbury's to fill a shopping basket full of food. Little research has been discovered about the intricacies of doing you shopping on a hang-over. I believe it should be regulated.
Late Saturday afternoon ending two dvd's and with a mobile which would not stop ringing, I was soon in the land of 'kip' on my couch. Awoken a few hours later to a dishevelled DeeDee standing over me, smiling that I obviously looked worse then him. Tearing the tongue from the roof of my mouth I managed to smoke through broken cracked lips and gives nods of desperation that I was on a virtual landslide of unconsciousness yet again he eventually said goodbyes and left. I slept more ... on the couch.
Finally the mobile was answered to the familiar voice of Neighbour 4, Bec, around 10pm who was reminding me about one of her housemates farewell that night. I was expected to waltz to upstate Clapham Common and harbour some feelings of celebration. I was not in a state until I turned on some selected Stanton Warrior tracks, get into a shower, dress in the clothing hanging on my floor, and arrived at her door within 30 minutes, looking as fresh as a 2 week-old used condom. Only thing that kept me awake was the thought of possibly bumping into 'the strange girl' I met last week who was 'in the area... drinking'. I must have been producing the right pheromone's as I walked into the bar, between el naturale and old rust, as it seemed to have a few of the neighbour's friends conversing with yours truly, at least I think it was talking. I was obviously sober.
With continuous pre-designated spots in the bar via sms I soon Sherlocked that this 'strange girl' was actually not in the same bar as me, but in a club on the other side of town. Obviously my time was drawing to a close with these circumstances to the conclusion of - 'I couldn't be fucked with this anymore' scenario. Reaching for scarf and my air of drunken confidence I strode to DeeDee's doorstep at 2am on a Sunday. Ever so surprised he was still conscious, we both decided it wise to drink his bottle of scotch and sing very loudly while he played on his guitar. Thus eventually falling asleep on his smoke ridden couch at a time which seemed to be the arousal of life and light behind the fogged panel of glass in his living room.
I was awake a few hours later with a girl in loose fitting bathrobe standing over me mouthing words which were presumably Swahili questioning my comfortability during sleep. I left soon after with a grunt of thanks and shuffled home to lower myself onto that couch again. Now realising my reply in Swahili should of been "Adhabu ya kaburi aijua maiti" as I felt the burden of pain in my lower back.
Soldiering on, I was managing to keep one slinky eye open during Al Gore's droned monologue 'An Inconvenient Truth' and drink half a litre of coffee before my body registered the need to collapse. I crawled on hand and knee to my chapel of peace around 7pm on Sunday and realising 10 seconds later it was probably the best decision I made all weekend.
Awaking Monday I cursed the Earth that it had shortened my weekend since 7pm Sunday. Knowing the cycle of my ritualistic attempt to make me into a half decent monkey each morning for the next 5 days was now evident.
You cannot know the bugs of a bed that you have not lain on.
Friday evening had me pub-crawling with some of my friends within Battersea discussing relevant topics in their life. A somewhat intriguing outlook established with them on Friday with an email asking them to 'Bring along an article to discuss'. 5 drunk men talking about politics, random acts of obtrusive behavior, growing a beard (my next blog), racism and why Horse thought a picture that Colleen McLoughlin had helped replicate made him gush. Obviously intriguing for some it ended up with me doing really bad party tricks. This went until I was called away on a late night rendezvous at midnight, and escaping the next morning at an unforgiving hour to meet up for breakfast to discuss the religion of drinking coffee through a very small hole.
Only a few brain cells were firing for me so early Saturday morning as I sat in front of a fry up which could only be described as inedible. The word's of Alan, said upon one frosty morn after a night of raving many years ago, should of been uttered before ordering said fry-up - 'I can only do one lettuce leaf'. Unfortunately I was designated food which slid on a plate, a coffee which was determined to pronounce itself to the world as mud and a very deep accented Scottish girl. Time eventually slid by as I shuffled off to a nearby Sainsbury's to fill a shopping basket full of food. Little research has been discovered about the intricacies of doing you shopping on a hang-over. I believe it should be regulated.
Late Saturday afternoon ending two dvd's and with a mobile which would not stop ringing, I was soon in the land of 'kip' on my couch. Awoken a few hours later to a dishevelled DeeDee standing over me, smiling that I obviously looked worse then him. Tearing the tongue from the roof of my mouth I managed to smoke through broken cracked lips and gives nods of desperation that I was on a virtual landslide of unconsciousness yet again he eventually said goodbyes and left. I slept more ... on the couch.
Finally the mobile was answered to the familiar voice of Neighbour 4, Bec, around 10pm who was reminding me about one of her housemates farewell that night. I was expected to waltz to upstate Clapham Common and harbour some feelings of celebration. I was not in a state until I turned on some selected Stanton Warrior tracks, get into a shower, dress in the clothing hanging on my floor, and arrived at her door within 30 minutes, looking as fresh as a 2 week-old used condom. Only thing that kept me awake was the thought of possibly bumping into 'the strange girl' I met last week who was 'in the area... drinking'. I must have been producing the right pheromone's as I walked into the bar, between el naturale and old rust, as it seemed to have a few of the neighbour's friends conversing with yours truly, at least I think it was talking. I was obviously sober.
With continuous pre-designated spots in the bar via sms I soon Sherlocked that this 'strange girl' was actually not in the same bar as me, but in a club on the other side of town. Obviously my time was drawing to a close with these circumstances to the conclusion of - 'I couldn't be fucked with this anymore' scenario. Reaching for scarf and my air of drunken confidence I strode to DeeDee's doorstep at 2am on a Sunday. Ever so surprised he was still conscious, we both decided it wise to drink his bottle of scotch and sing very loudly while he played on his guitar. Thus eventually falling asleep on his smoke ridden couch at a time which seemed to be the arousal of life and light behind the fogged panel of glass in his living room.
I was awake a few hours later with a girl in loose fitting bathrobe standing over me mouthing words which were presumably Swahili questioning my comfortability during sleep. I left soon after with a grunt of thanks and shuffled home to lower myself onto that couch again. Now realising my reply in Swahili should of been "Adhabu ya kaburi aijua maiti" as I felt the burden of pain in my lower back.
Soldiering on, I was managing to keep one slinky eye open during Al Gore's droned monologue 'An Inconvenient Truth' and drink half a litre of coffee before my body registered the need to collapse. I crawled on hand and knee to my chapel of peace around 7pm on Sunday and realising 10 seconds later it was probably the best decision I made all weekend.
Awaking Monday I cursed the Earth that it had shortened my weekend since 7pm Sunday. Knowing the cycle of my ritualistic attempt to make me into a half decent monkey each morning for the next 5 days was now evident.
You cannot know the bugs of a bed that you have not lain on.
LS at 2/20/2007 10:17:00 AM
0 comments
_,.>-^`^-<.,_,.>-^`^-<.,_,.>-^`^-<.,_,.>-^`^-<.,_,.>-^`^-<.,_,.>-^`^-<.,_,.>-^`^-<.,_,.>-^`^-<.,_,.>-^`
Thursday, February 15, 2007
The Nostalgia of Valentine
People writing about Valentine's Day tend be quite critical about the back-drop of how much of a high priced budget affair it can lead to. Society has conformed us enough to remind us on frequent occasion that today is the day not to be single and I can hear them laughing at me (or is that my other personality). The marketing drama queens make a mockery of every celebration there is in my "Western civilization", it was only the other week my colleague was eating Hot Cross Buns in January, and yes, I was jealous.
I look at the chance also that most singles possibly enjoy this day. Realizing it's a good time to come out of their own self invovled floundering into the rose-colored light of expressing themselves to each other. I do enjoy seeing people in love though, I am not that cynical.... yet. However I will draw the line when there is an expected sense of duty to perform last rites on your pride to a girl who is single and available, but doesn't dig my scrawny looks and tattered ego - often expressed with them walking the other direction.
How many women are wearing red today and didn't know it? Sure sure, you're celebrating Valentine's day, but are you also somehow attuning yourselves to the call of the wild and invoking the wrath of the male mating season on your doorstep? Are you stepping out into a bar tonight full of horny unattractive men who think tonight is their night because they may find themselves a "desperately seeking"?
Basic stats
The Anti-Valentine's lobby have announced that today is not the day to make love, so I'm guessing tomorrow they will back in the hot-seats. With their speed-dating nights, single dot com's and the whole array of how their heart's continue to be broken by those they entrusted them to. To the cynics out there who I have been reading in the eve leading up until today, I would like to congratulate you on enjoying another fun soaked day of being single and hopefully, enjoying it. One thing could be for certain. When you strap on that great big bullshit helmet hoping to catch a glimpse of crap on your radar, the question still comes out that highway of lonelinesss we all travel - Will you be getting any tonight?
My Valentine's present I received as an email today, has been more of a heart-break of anger and a impression of guilt on my part. Knowing that my encroaching and ever so unpopular destiny in London for the time being could possibly be snuffed. I still remember leaving 'someone' back at home and now knowing another guy will be spending money on her today. But, I've always lived in that dream world hoping she may well come around to her senses, and that's why I remain single and oblivious of our anxious decisions that us silly romantics effortlessly produce quite so well.
So with my £83, a low self esteem, a single outlook on love with that overwhelming desire to go to bed early, I've have decided that Jack may be entertaining me tonight after all, not with candy though. Sorry Dave, I know you're taking that girl of yours to the restaurant across the road from mine tonight, there still is a good possibility that Jack and I will be streaking by that window with love hearts attached to my bellend as promised.
All jokes aside interestingly enough, Valentine's Day was never based on the ephemeral pleasures of a single day. It originated in the Romans Lupercalia festival, held in honor of the god who protected their herds from wolves.
So I hope you may find some light in reading my depravity, as it isn't all that bad being single. You may have noone to be with tonight/tomorrow or next lunar cycle. There will always be those sharp fanged cynics out there willing to bite into the fabric of a day which celebrates, dare I say it, love and I feel we should all be more like shepherds to encourage a hug between friends and strangers.
If you take a chance
You risk failure
If you don't
You ensure it
I look at the chance also that most singles possibly enjoy this day. Realizing it's a good time to come out of their own self invovled floundering into the rose-colored light of expressing themselves to each other. I do enjoy seeing people in love though, I am not that cynical.... yet. However I will draw the line when there is an expected sense of duty to perform last rites on your pride to a girl who is single and available, but doesn't dig my scrawny looks and tattered ego - often expressed with them walking the other direction.
How many women are wearing red today and didn't know it? Sure sure, you're celebrating Valentine's day, but are you also somehow attuning yourselves to the call of the wild and invoking the wrath of the male mating season on your doorstep? Are you stepping out into a bar tonight full of horny unattractive men who think tonight is their night because they may find themselves a "desperately seeking"?
Basic stats
- On average each person who celebrates spends an average of £83 according to a recent survey in London, and nearly a fifth of British men will buy a card 'because they feel they have to'
- In 2006 the National Retail Federation in the states estimated $13.7 billion is spent in USA alone
- It's probably the last thing most people think about when buying roses. But by the time the velvety, vibrant-colored flowers reach a Valentine's Day buyer, most will have been sprayed, rinsed and dipped in a battery of potentially lethal chemicals...
But it isn't all that bad is it?
- In Japan women buy the chocolate for men , furthermore they follow this up with White Day on March 14th where the men return the favor (probably with a wink and lift of the chin a couple of times)
- Of course the Chinese have something delightfully exotic - The Night of Sevens or Qi Xi, but I like the colloquial term of Magpie's Day where young girls traditionally demonstrate their domestic skills (like they don't do enough already?)
- In Iran - Sepandarmazgan - held on 29 Bahman is the day of love (Maybe George won't consider bombing Iran if he knew this?)
- On the 15th day of the Month of Av - Jewish tradition is to have the girls dress in white dresses and dance in vineyards where the boys would be waiting for them (I'm certain I was at a party like this last year which involved very loud music)
- The Brazilians celebrate on June 12th (This one has logged away for the next time I am trying to impress a Brazilian lass... I'm serious!)
- 'Da del amor y la amistad' is celebrated in Columbia and Mexico much like a secret santa (where they set each other up with little bags of white powder and leave an anonymous phone call off to the Policia)
- Finland have a 'friends day' (Swinging is all that comes to my mind when I read this)
- Supposedly the birds and the bee's come out on the 12th of March in Slovenia to propose their love for each other - and they call it Saint Gregory's Day
- Dragobete - is in the calendar for Romania for the 24th February and the birdies get frisky (Gypsy love seems unattractive, if you can get passed the moustache you're halfway there)
- However what disturbed me, is some man named Jack could be knocking on the door of my house and wants to give me his sweets according to some of Norfolk's weird folk legends ( I'm sorry, but people get hospitalized for lesser things where I live)
The Anti-Valentine's lobby have announced that today is not the day to make love, so I'm guessing tomorrow they will back in the hot-seats. With their speed-dating nights, single dot com's and the whole array of how their heart's continue to be broken by those they entrusted them to. To the cynics out there who I have been reading in the eve leading up until today, I would like to congratulate you on enjoying another fun soaked day of being single and hopefully, enjoying it. One thing could be for certain. When you strap on that great big bullshit helmet hoping to catch a glimpse of crap on your radar, the question still comes out that highway of lonelinesss we all travel - Will you be getting any tonight?
My Valentine's present I received as an email today, has been more of a heart-break of anger and a impression of guilt on my part. Knowing that my encroaching and ever so unpopular destiny in London for the time being could possibly be snuffed. I still remember leaving 'someone' back at home and now knowing another guy will be spending money on her today. But, I've always lived in that dream world hoping she may well come around to her senses, and that's why I remain single and oblivious of our anxious decisions that us silly romantics effortlessly produce quite so well.
So with my £83, a low self esteem, a single outlook on love with that overwhelming desire to go to bed early, I've have decided that Jack may be entertaining me tonight after all, not with candy though. Sorry Dave, I know you're taking that girl of yours to the restaurant across the road from mine tonight, there still is a good possibility that Jack and I will be streaking by that window with love hearts attached to my bellend as promised.
All jokes aside interestingly enough, Valentine's Day was never based on the ephemeral pleasures of a single day. It originated in the Romans Lupercalia festival, held in honor of the god who protected their herds from wolves.
So I hope you may find some light in reading my depravity, as it isn't all that bad being single. You may have noone to be with tonight/tomorrow or next lunar cycle. There will always be those sharp fanged cynics out there willing to bite into the fabric of a day which celebrates, dare I say it, love and I feel we should all be more like shepherds to encourage a hug between friends and strangers.
If you take a chance
You risk failure
If you don't
You ensure it
LS at 2/15/2007 07:08:00 AM
1 comments
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Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Metamorphose
The common mistake I do on an increasing amount is to misjudge my perception of things. At the moment I'm coming to terms with my depth perception, however this is a minor adjustment of crouching a little, turning my head to the side and not actually looking directly into the glass. Many times I have thought the glass to be full.
It's an interesting metaphor to start my spiel and I've had a few friends comment on the whole reason of the title of this blog. Maybe in this one small thousand plus words of thought we can come to a final solution, of course David Irving may deny it ever existed though.
If you had to one word for how your life has become, what would it be?
We all like to look at the challenges we face throughout our possible significance that the answer has some mystical importance to it all. The only things we cannot be certain about, is our future. We all know this, but are continually harassed by society around us, that there is an end that you don't really want to face. There is no start again button, there is no reset button and there is no chance that my bizarre theory of stopping time will become reality. Alas to answer our fantasy we are still faced by a clock in the bottom right corner of our lives.
- We all like to be asked of an opinion and I know a majority of us have an answer
to throw back when someone asks about their opinion on a movie they watched
recently, and there is always a devil's advocate. - We all have experienced something, which gives us that sensitivity of being human, that warmth and love that we have somewhat have learnt through our own mistakes. Plenty of phone numbers in my phone I neglect to call, but plenty of people who forgive me for
it. - We all feed from emotion and the desire to have some popularity within a
conversation, without that trait we would not have evolved politics into what it
is today, unfortunately for us we think the governments of the world are run by
monkeys. - Alas to answer ourselves they are continually pointed out to us.
I was drowned in a subject recently, on a message board I frequent, and the argument which ensued was something that did grab a hold of me. Along the lines of - 'What if global warming was possibly a hoax or false?' Conspiracy theory, mixed with scientific judgement and a pinch of fact. Sure I have my own opinion on the entire grand scheme of things but it's a little far flung and would involve the entire male species dying off leaving me to populate the rest of the world with a couple of good mates. Alas to answer a theory twisted and outrageous humour is involved.
All things's considered I thought humanity was stagnant. Waiting for the next best thing to put into our delicate heads. We presume the future ahead of us and some of us make effort to bridge that gap, but yet we all seem to recycle. Each morning with a coffee in hand I sit in front a computer and read the top headline stories of the world through a data source. The constant every day occurrence of the tragedies in the world glimpse for a moment and then disappear to resurface possibly a month later when someone wants to remind us again. I've always thought I was destined for the grand design of things to come. Yet I still order that coffee and recycle the next day and read other peoples information and messages which they have recycled from somewhere else. Alas to answer the drama we switch the channel and feel tea is much better in the morning.
But maybe I've misjudged it all. I continue pouring half glasses of water to quench my thirst, often realising my mistake. I've adapted with it. Because although it could possibly be my eyes, my senses or just poor volume to mass ratio, it still really comes down to measurement because you have not realised the size of the glass I drink from.
Let me bring you out of the pit of despair. I answer a lot of questions asked of me by friends with some twisted metaphor and hopefully one so obscure that the person, although elated that I seemed so insightful by their problem - they really just can't determine the positioning of the real truth in my answer. I have a lot of 'end of the roads' facing me in the coming months which I am anxious and look forward too solving.
My evolution of judgement will continue to enjoy the complexities of a pure metaphor.
ed: 75% complete (need to hyper-link)
LS at 2/14/2007 04:28:00 AM
0 comments
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Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Thanks mum!
Yes it was 4am in the morning and cold and I was asking a stranger to take a photo of me outside a kebab house in Shoreditch after a long night at Tea Bar.
She asked what it was for ?
I replied in a slurred happy voice "My mummy knitted my scarf, I need to send her this picture."
She thought I was being cute... Thanks mum you may help me score hot women with this !
Hope you all have a Happy Valentines' day! I give you all my thumb's up approval of speed dating if you're single.
Yes it was 4am in the morning and cold and I was asking a stranger to take a photo of me outside a kebab house in Shoreditch after a long night at Tea Bar.
She asked what it was for ?
I replied in a slurred happy voice "My mummy knitted my scarf, I need to send her this picture."
She thought I was being cute... Thanks mum you may help me score hot women with this !
Hope you all have a Happy Valentines' day! I give you all my thumb's up approval of speed dating if you're single.
LS at 2/13/2007 09:54:00 PM
0 comments
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Thursday, February 08, 2007
Eng-er-land !!
You know you've been in England too long when;
1. You don't even bother looking out of the window when you get up in the morning to check what the day is like. You know it is overcast.
Very true, I have my curtain shut 90% of the time. The only time I look out the window is when I hearing screaming or there is possibly a brawl from outside the pub just down the road. Sensible viewing.
2. You believe that Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday are all good nights for drinking. Sunday day is also entirely reasonable.
Absolutely true. Any day is a good day to drink. Work drinks are a necessity to encourage your social status and kidney failure. Your social status will get you sex and the kidney failure will get you flowers and sympathy.
3. You can't remember what 'customer service' means.
Oh fuck off this can't be true! Everyone's a fucking wanker anyhow when you speak to them on the phone.
4. After a big night out you find yourself looking for a Curry house and not a 24 hour McDonalds.
As I don't eat at McDonalds I don't emphasise. Though as a kebab here looks like a used diaper when it's given to you over the counter and are about as tasty as one, curry's do become your best option. Also a curry is sensationally brilliant when you puke them up on a pavement, because you no some lucky beggar is going to turn green when they see it in the morning, and start worrying about your health.
5. You start to accept queuing as a way of life.
Literally this morning. 15 minutes to get a ticket for the train. 20 minutes herded into a small semi circle where the doors may open on the platform and shuffling forward (miss two trains because they are jammed pack). 7 minutes waiting for your ham and cheese toastie which you orders 3 times already (because the girl's first language isn't English) over the increasingly disturbing jackhammer behind you. 10 minutes in line for coffee in work cafeteria. And it isn't even 11am!
6. More than three hours sunlight on summer days seems excessive.
Going to disagree. More than three hours of sunlight on a summer's day could blind people.
7. You always call soccer 'football' ... and you have a team ... and it's not Manchester United. (what's wrong with United??)
Well firstly it's managed by an arrogant Scottish prick! Secondly 'United' are not half as proud as the Spurs!
8. You don't think twice about buying a packaged sandwich.
The bread here is always stale, that's why!
9. A sunny lunchtime means searching for a patch of grass and stripping off practically down to your underwear.
I'm blinded again! I'm scared to look at my own legs due to the overwhelming sense that they could cause emotional stress to all.
10. You expect men to actually cut, comb and style their hair (using hair products) and to wear decent clothes. Jeans and a T-shirt are no longer socially acceptable.
Always did anyhow, depends on your type of jeans and t-shirt though.
11. You think 40 quid for a haircut is quite reasonable.
Yes I used to think this until I met my neighbour who's a hairdresser and does it for 15 quid.
12. You finish every sentence with 'Cheers' or "In'it", and start every conversation with Hiya or Alright.
Never used in'it but I use the other 3 with a lot of liberal sense.
13. You only just realise you have lost your sunglasses-you left them in Greece 2 summers ago.
Was actually in Australia.
14. You start thinking English cuisine isn't all that bad after all, I mean, it's hard to beat a full English breakfast.
Bacon, Eggs, Hash, Beans, Sausage, Dry toast and the all important Black Pudding (find out what it is and you'll throw up a little in your mouth).
15. You are on to your 6th umbrella and your second overcoat.
Fourth overcoat, 2nd umbrella.
16. You buy a disposable baby BBQ from Argos.
Oh yeh! Those things BURN everything!
17. You realise your sunscreen is the stuff you originally brought from home with you.
Absolutely true. I have this fluro yellow zinc as well that the only place I wear is at Australia versus games.
18. A day at the beach means wearing the warmest clothes you own while standing on golf ball-size pebbles and the thought of swimming doesn't even enter your head.
But Brighton is such a lovely place .. to shop
19. You actually say, "Sor'ed" or "its all gone a bit pear shaped".
Yep. Australian translation to those would be:
"It's all good" and "Up shit creek"
20. Wearing a suit in a pub is relatively normal attire.
Last week - Tuesday, Thursday and Friday - in a suit, seated in a pub, with a number of other people in the same thing, quite possibly whinging also about weather, work and women.
21. You have given up complaining about the Victorian-like banking services offered in the UK.
Banking and service should not be seen together in the same sentence in UK.
22. You have given up explaining why you are half an hour late to work as no-one notices or even cares. In fact - you may even join the one hour gossip session around the coffee machine before booting up your computer.
It is 11am now, and I believe nobody has done an ounce of work. Except of course me because I carry the team.
23. Coming to work with a hangover is entirely accepted and indeed expected at least once a week.
I think I still stink of Scotch to be honest.
1. You don't even bother looking out of the window when you get up in the morning to check what the day is like. You know it is overcast.
Very true, I have my curtain shut 90% of the time. The only time I look out the window is when I hearing screaming or there is possibly a brawl from outside the pub just down the road. Sensible viewing.
2. You believe that Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday are all good nights for drinking. Sunday day is also entirely reasonable.
Absolutely true. Any day is a good day to drink. Work drinks are a necessity to encourage your social status and kidney failure. Your social status will get you sex and the kidney failure will get you flowers and sympathy.
3. You can't remember what 'customer service' means.
Oh fuck off this can't be true! Everyone's a fucking wanker anyhow when you speak to them on the phone.
4. After a big night out you find yourself looking for a Curry house and not a 24 hour McDonalds.
As I don't eat at McDonalds I don't emphasise. Though as a kebab here looks like a used diaper when it's given to you over the counter and are about as tasty as one, curry's do become your best option. Also a curry is sensationally brilliant when you puke them up on a pavement, because you no some lucky beggar is going to turn green when they see it in the morning, and start worrying about your health.
5. You start to accept queuing as a way of life.
Literally this morning. 15 minutes to get a ticket for the train. 20 minutes herded into a small semi circle where the doors may open on the platform and shuffling forward (miss two trains because they are jammed pack). 7 minutes waiting for your ham and cheese toastie which you orders 3 times already (because the girl's first language isn't English) over the increasingly disturbing jackhammer behind you. 10 minutes in line for coffee in work cafeteria. And it isn't even 11am!
6. More than three hours sunlight on summer days seems excessive.
Going to disagree. More than three hours of sunlight on a summer's day could blind people.
7. You always call soccer 'football' ... and you have a team ... and it's not Manchester United. (what's wrong with United??)
Well firstly it's managed by an arrogant Scottish prick! Secondly 'United' are not half as proud as the Spurs!
8. You don't think twice about buying a packaged sandwich.
The bread here is always stale, that's why!
9. A sunny lunchtime means searching for a patch of grass and stripping off practically down to your underwear.
I'm blinded again! I'm scared to look at my own legs due to the overwhelming sense that they could cause emotional stress to all.
10. You expect men to actually cut, comb and style their hair (using hair products) and to wear decent clothes. Jeans and a T-shirt are no longer socially acceptable.
Always did anyhow, depends on your type of jeans and t-shirt though.
11. You think 40 quid for a haircut is quite reasonable.
Yes I used to think this until I met my neighbour who's a hairdresser and does it for 15 quid.
12. You finish every sentence with 'Cheers' or "In'it", and start every conversation with Hiya or Alright.
Never used in'it but I use the other 3 with a lot of liberal sense.
13. You only just realise you have lost your sunglasses-you left them in Greece 2 summers ago.
Was actually in Australia.
14. You start thinking English cuisine isn't all that bad after all, I mean, it's hard to beat a full English breakfast.
Bacon, Eggs, Hash, Beans, Sausage, Dry toast and the all important Black Pudding (find out what it is and you'll throw up a little in your mouth).
15. You are on to your 6th umbrella and your second overcoat.
Fourth overcoat, 2nd umbrella.
16. You buy a disposable baby BBQ from Argos.
Oh yeh! Those things BURN everything!
17. You realise your sunscreen is the stuff you originally brought from home with you.
Absolutely true. I have this fluro yellow zinc as well that the only place I wear is at Australia versus games.
18. A day at the beach means wearing the warmest clothes you own while standing on golf ball-size pebbles and the thought of swimming doesn't even enter your head.
But Brighton is such a lovely place .. to shop
19. You actually say, "Sor'ed" or "its all gone a bit pear shaped".
Yep. Australian translation to those would be:
"It's all good" and "Up shit creek"
20. Wearing a suit in a pub is relatively normal attire.
Last week - Tuesday, Thursday and Friday - in a suit, seated in a pub, with a number of other people in the same thing, quite possibly whinging also about weather, work and women.
21. You have given up complaining about the Victorian-like banking services offered in the UK.
Banking and service should not be seen together in the same sentence in UK.
22. You have given up explaining why you are half an hour late to work as no-one notices or even cares. In fact - you may even join the one hour gossip session around the coffee machine before booting up your computer.
It is 11am now, and I believe nobody has done an ounce of work. Except of course me because I carry the team.
23. Coming to work with a hangover is entirely accepted and indeed expected at least once a week.
I think I still stink of Scotch to be honest.
LS at 2/08/2007 10:11:00 PM
0 comments
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