You are currently browsing the category archive for the ‘Etc.’ category.
I had such a vivid dream last night that I have to write it down.
I was wandering around Camden market with a friend (Helen Dennis who was a close friend at school but whom I haven’t seen for about 12 years). It is not actually Camden market but some kind of simulacra. We are trying on massive earrings but the lady in the market stall keeps making me try on tiny ones which are hidden in my hair. I’m also reading at the same time. I can’t remember the book but I’ve read it before and it has a white cover.
Suddenly a stretcher comes past carrried by lots of stressed looking people and it is a medieval looking stretcher made out of branches and bits of rope. I look on the stretcher and it is someone I recognize but I don’t immediately know his name. Then the stretcher carriers put it on the floor and I notice one of the people next to it is Martin Clunes and then make the assumption that the person on the stretcher is his comedy partner Neil Morrissey. They then try to lift the stretcher onto a medieval looking carriage but it’s too heavy and I run forward, my heart pounding, to help. We get it on and I jump on the carriage and it starts moving really quickly. My book falls to the road and I feel a profound sense of loss.
Then I am in a medieval courtyard and there is a massive wooden sword on the ground. I pick it up and start smashing it to pieces. My ex boyfriend turns up and says he has moved back from New York but is now going to be a snowboarding instructor and wants me to join him. I am very disinterested in him but still want him to like me so I go back to his apartment which is the first apartment we stayed in together in Williamsburg. He never smiles.
1. Derren Brown completely fucked it with his casino trick. The best line was at the end of the programme “Don’t worry…you’ll definitely get your $5000 back.” Clearly the “deep maths” wasn’t working this time.
2. I convinced myself I had swine flu for half an hour and then gradually calmed down to the reality that it was just a cold. The worst moment was when I self-diagnosed online and was ordered to take myself directly to an emergency ward after asking a series of multiple-choice questions. I think the NHS really should make the first multiple-choice question this one: “Are you prone to bouts of hypochondria and irrationality?” “Yes?” “Then get off the internet and have some chocolate.”
3. I discovered the Janis Joplin Live at Woodstock album. Addictive and uplifting.
1. Michael Jackson dying.
2. Andy Murray playing tennis.
3. People talking about their yoga practice.
The very top of the pyramid: black cab drivers. They clearly don’t give a f&*k about whether you live or die and are driving an indestructible black diesel-fuelled tank with their hands-free dangling from their ear and worrying about where their next bacon sandwich is coming from. Motto – steer clear and just pray that you are even a modicum more important to them than the sandwich
Next rung down: white van man. Has no compunction against shouting misogynistic insults at you and will drive as close as is humanly possible to your right elbow however the very fact that they are shouting the aforementioned insults does mean that they are aware of your existence unlike the above, and therefore are less likely to kill you.
Next: lorry driver. They are so big and have so many blind spots that the best idea is just to stay behind it or if you can without jeapordising your life too significantly, get it front of it. Never to the left or right. They don’t specifically want to run you over, they just can’t see you.
Next: German car driver. Not the driver, the car. Porsche, Mercedes, BMW etc. – all c*cks. I think the cars are predisposed to growl and zoom right up to your back wheel before roaring off and leaving you slightly wobbly but still basically in one piece.
Next: I’ve moaned about these before but it’s the kamikaze pedestrian. Not looking, not caring, usually with i-Pod and generally a tourist, they will step off the pavement and into your bike with not so much as a second glance. They will be sorry but it’s not much help. Most dangerous places – near Oxford Street or Buckingham Palace. You can shout but they won’t hear or understand you.
Next: The elderly driver. Barely able to peer over the steering wheel. You can’t shout at these because you must respect them as they are old and frail and have forgotten how to drive. But secretly you can concoct policies about banning driving licences for anyone over the age of 65.
Penultimately: Other cyclists. Particularly the fixed gear junkies who speed through red-lights, cut you up on the inside, and tut condescendingly if you have anything like gears or brakes. How last season.
Lastly: Me. Let’s face it – I’m the biggest threat to myself on my bike. I’ve crashed into railings, lamp-posts, dust-bins, tram lines, pavements, chain-link gates, and even just fallen off randomly in the middle of the road just for fun. Or not fun because it hurts.
This week I’ve mostly worked, worked, cycled, worked, flown in a horrifically small and bumpy plane to Luxembourg and back again, saw Star Trek (BRILLIANT!), worked, worried over work decision, become more sure over work decision, dithered some more, and then finally decided.
Now I’m going to chiiiiiiiilllllllllllllllllllllllll.
Sometimes when I’m cycling I like to amuse myself by inventing new insults for the variety of idiots who get in my way.
Ever since I started cycling around London I’ve noticed that by far the most aggressive, and dangerous drivers are people behind the wheel of a Porsche. Today I was undertaken by a particularly arseholey one and the word “Porsche-c*ck” immediately sprang into my mind.
So onto the news and reviews:
1. In the Loop – lots of inventing swearing (see above) and insults towards Americans and French people i.e. I loved it.
2. Tunnel 228 by Punchdrunk. I really really enjoyed this. No, it wasn’t a performance, more a kind of art installation with people in it. But the space and the music and the general oppressive, moody, and gloomy atmosphere was entrancing. I loved the touches like the face-down body in the dark tunnel water with a string of balloons attached and the dancing robotic arms which cavorted electronically around a moving dentist’s chair. The tiny minature scenes of Shell Garages and an Aldi store by Slinkachu were brilliant too. http://www.slinkachu.com/
3. Tortured Soul at the Jazz Cafe. In parts brilliant – live deep house, a singing drummer, an exceedingly fit bass player – in others really quite stupendously bad – cheesy, awful, dancefloor house for the shiny shirt and shoes brigade.
4. Last Days of Decadence – an averagely good bar in Shoreditch. Noteable for their alchoholic hot tea but not much else. There’s some art deco painted glass but I didn’t see much other decadence. In fact downstairs there was some rubbish disco thing going on. I think Shoreditch has mostly had its day to be honest.
5. I am Legend by Richard Matheson. Now the title finally makes sense. Which it completely doesn’t in the film. The whole nature of the book is quite different. Anyway, I’d recommend it – it’s an easy read but still fairly disturbing. I made the mistake of reading it all in one night and until quite late so I had nightmares that involved ghostly figures floating around my living room.
This weekend I’m going to a Taste of Sonar at the Roundhouse on Friday to see Jeff Mills, Erol Alkan and an assortment of other techno + electronica acts. I think I’m also going to try and check out the Cindy Sherman exhibition at the Spruth Magers gallery. Other than that I’m chilling out, maxin’ and relaxin’ as the Fresh Prince once said.
I still haven’t found Marmite cashews. Boo.
Sometimes it takes a fall to remind you that you’re alive again. I have been running around in a day-dreamy daze for the last two weeks without actually connecting with my life. I even managed to dream through an interview and actually land the job and now I have to deal with the aftermath of it as it is a job much closer to my heart than my current one but then also involves some sacrifices that I’m not sure I’m prepared to make. I’m also never quite sure whether the ideal meets the reality. It’s like the socialist dream – great in theory, crap in practice. Or at least, corrupted in practice.
I went for a run in Hyde Park to take my mind off the interminable decision-making process and then took my mind off the run for one second and went flying into the air landing smack bang on the ground. However now my semi-permament ache in my knee is reminding me I’m alive , in the present, and I have important decisions to make. No more day-dreaming for now.
More news on the Tunnel 228 thing: http://londonist.com/2009/05/preview_tunnel_228.php
Charlie Kaufman is in London this weekend doing a series of promotional talks for Synechdoche. I might try to gatecrash one and pretend I’m someone famous.
Other than that I’ll be checking out the Beauty and the Beat party somewhere in Dalston on Saturday night. I’ll also be investigating further the current trend for massive ugly glasses. What’s that all about? I saw some hideous looking pairs tonight in Hoxton. It just can’t be right.
And that’s all folks…
I need an adventure. I know I need one because I’m starting to do more erratic things. Like last Thursday I was walking through St. James’ Park and I smelt the grass and went and sat down and stuck my face into the grass and smelled it. It was only after I had a full smell of the grass (which smelt amazing) that I realised this was probably a weird thing to do to outsiders. The thing with adventures is that they are so rarely planned. I mean a proper adventure is not something you spend time thinking about. You just get up and go. However work obligations make this hard to do. But it could be a mini time-constrained adventure. So if any of my two or perhaps three readers have any ideas and want to make an impromptu adventure suggestion then I’m just letting you know that I’m there. If it involves a flying carpet then all the better.
to have Kim Noble’s baby. Yes, I am a lucky girl. Just got a text message from him tonight that I have been put on the short-list to receive lifetime child-support payments for the sperm in a jar that I was given by him in his show last week.
I’ve added one new song to my guitar playing repetoire. It’s by the Smashing Pumpkins whose name I have vaguely heard before but that’s about it. I think I missed out on a lot of key indie/rock music when I was younger by obsessively listening to Massive Attack, Tricky and Portishead over and over again.
Today I did a LOT of exercise (for me). I cycled about 1.5 hours and then did a 3 mile run. The run was actually more pleasurable than the cycle since the number of kamikaze pedestrians seems to have increased exponentially recently. I still barely manage to keep my nerve but since my horrible experience last year I’ve learnt to keep my mouth shut so instead I mutter obscenities under my breath which provides the requisite release without getting me into trouble.
More seriously I’ve been semi- following the unfolding farce at Durban II which is in Geneva. I don’t know why they didn’t just call it Geneva I. I also don’t know why you would invite a fascist dictator to open a conference on racism but there you go…the UN is a pile of useless old bureaucracy that should be swept under the carpet and forgotten about. However one thing it did bring up is that boycotting is just pointless. I mean everything and anything is boycotted nowadays. Boycott Israeli tomatoes. Boycott Zimbabwean tomatoes. Boycott Chinese clothes. Boycott the BBC. I’m sick of it. I’m boycotting the boycotters. I wouldn’t be too keen on hearing Ahmedinejad speak but I’d probably listen to what he has to say and then ridicule him afterwards. Boycotting seems to be just saying “I’m not going to listen, I’m not going to hear.” Also, boycotting generally seems to bring more attention to things that would probably have received only minimal attention if they weren’t boycotted. Durban II is a case in point. The whole concept of a conference on racism sounds pretty pointless to me and would probably have consisted of a few pointless speeches, a few rounds of pointess clapping or boo-ing, some champagne and canapes, followed by everyone going home to sleep. Now it receives far more attention and mostly for the wrong reasons. If governments want to tackle racism they need to do it through basic education not through spending vast amounts of money on international conferences.
Seeing Fennesz tomorrow at the Southbank. Can’t wait.
1. I am obsessed with music and have been since I was about 8 when I bought my first cassette which was Bros’s album. I spend at least 2 hours a day categorising my music collection, buying music, listening to music and reading music magazines online and in print.
2. I am learning the guitar and can play 3 chords. I’m secretly hoping that I turn out to be some kind of a guitar genius and can give up the day job.
3. When I brush my teeth at night in my little en-suite shower cabinet I like to shut the doors, turn off the lights, and pretend that it’s a space-ship and when I open them again I will be in the middle of a corn field in Iowa – I don’t know why but that’s always the image that comes into my head
4. I’ve never had a filling or any teeth-related problem.
5. The smell of honey reminds me so strongly of one particular person that I find it very hard to smell it, and therefore eat it.
6. My favourite food is marmite on toast. Second favourite is halva.
7. I cry when I go to places I love. I cried in the mountains in the Himalayas, and I cry everytime I touchdown in Israel.
8. I really do think that I could fly if I built up enough speed running first.
9. One of the things I think about every day is if I do believe in God, what that means, can I believe without knowing why, does it matter if I don’t believe, and what am I even trying to do when I’m thinking about if I do or do not believe in God.
10. I often get confused by social interactions which my sister believes is a result of me having Aspergers.
11. I love Gianduja chocolate and will always take the gold rectagular block one in any box of chocolates so watch out.
12. I always cheat at boardgames. You will never realise this. I’m very good at cheating.
13. I once won a lot of money at a casino and spent it all on chocolate and sweets. A lot of chocolate and sweets.
14. I have very bad claustrophobia and often break out into a light sweat in a lift.
15. I love cycling and am in love with my bike and it’s beautiful wicker basket
16. I also love boys who work in bike-shops – especially the geeky ones with glasses and messy hair.
17. I have a secret language which I use to talk to squirrels and I am convinced that I do belong to the squirrel family (distant relations).
18. I want to go to every music festival in the world this year. I’ll probably manage 5. Even though I hate camping.
19. I’m on a permanent quest for the perfect hair product. I have a collection of over 20 products and none of them are what I want. I keep trying.
20. My favourite word is potato.
21. I virtually never argue with anyone, ever. The last argument I had however was an explosive, shouting one with an old woman by my local recycling bin who told me I was recycling too much and there wasn’t enough room for anyone else’s paper. I thought this was the most ridiculous thing I had ever heard and I ended up ringing Camden council on my phone, and asking them in front of her if there were individual quotas for recycling limits in the borough. There were not. The woman then told me I had no community spirit. I really wanted to hit her but I didn’t. This is the angriest I have ever got.
22. When the sun sees me it likes to burn me. I’ve had two doctors tell me on two seperate occasions that I had the worst sunburn they have ever seen.
23. I bite my nails.
24. I often want to shout out random things at inappropriate times.
25. I want to be Mayor of London.
Apparently he checks Google blogs for reviews of his shows so here’s mine….
ADORABLE! I laughed the whole way through, especially at the random quadratic equation formula joke. I swear I did exactly the same thing at school – wrote the formula for deriving dy/dx on my thigh and then popped to the toilet when I needed to use it, forever after imprinting on my brain.
I don’t really go to comedy gigs much – in fact I basically only ever see Daniel Kitson – so it was nice to see someone different. He didn’t have any hecklers – perhaps the Soho Theatre is too polite an audience – but he’s not at all antagonistic in the way that Kitson is so it’s doubtful he ever would.
Today I discovered a place of rare beauty – Princi. A Milan import apparently, and run by Alan Yau of Busaba, Wagamama, Yauatcha and Hakkasan fame….(and more recently Sake No Hana and Cha Cha Moon – neither of which seem particularly good). I had three chocolate chip cookies for a pound and then a slice of cinnamon, walnut and chocolate chip cake. I wanted to try more but I was feeling a bit sick. Later on I popped back for a slice of courgette pizza but I couldn’t even eat half. Pathetic! I need to go back with more people so I can try EVERYTHING! Maybe around 20. I don’t even need to know them – as long as they let me share their cakes and pizzas. Anyway, it’s on Wardour Street – close-ish to Oxford St. – nearest tube is Tottenham Court Road. It’s hard to miss – at least even I in my normal dreamlike state wandering from record shop to record shop was stopped dead in my tracks by the sight of a glistening golden brioche sitting plumply on the counter looking out at me.
