gibbon-arsed ramblings of a hopeless underachiever
Friday, July 30, 2004
Do you see what I did there? eh? mm hmm hmm hmm.
The postal "service", I'm referring to. What an incompetent bunch of fuckwits. What part of "Return to sender: not known at this address" did they not understand?
The words part, apparently, as I saw one of several pieces of mail I'd marked up thus boomerang back through my letterbox this morning.
This is the latest in a long line of mail fuckups since we've been here (only six months, lest we forget), including mail delivered for people who live at the same number but an entirely different street to us, mail delivered for wrong numbers in our street, stuff going missing, stuff they claimed to have attempted to deliver on days I spent cooped up inside without even going to the local shop and know damn well they did not.
I thought it would be safe to assume one would have to be able to read to get a job that had anything to do with delivering letters. But what do I know?
posted by bandhag | 7/30/2004 10:25:00 AM
Thursday, July 29, 2004
It's doing that thing of not publishing a post until you've posted a new one, innit.
Been to a good gig tonight. Mad how there's been pretty much nothing for weeks and then all the gigs you'd fancy going to are on the same night.
Hey Colussus a) rule and b) hate you and you and you and you and you and you
posted by bandhag | 7/29/2004 12:17:00 AM
Wednesday, July 28, 2004
Ok, tonight's post is an interview, care of that meme thingy that's doing the rounds.
Here's "the skinny":
1. Leave a comment on my blog saying you want to be interviewed.
2. I will respond and ask you five questions.
3. You'll update your blog with my five questions, and your five answers.
4. You'll include this explanation.
5. You'll ask other people five questions when they want to be interviewed.
Just to be awkward, I want to extend this meme. Everyone who comments, I'd like you to ask me a question, too, and I promise I'll answer as truthfully as I can. And yes, this is an attempt to cure my blogger's block. Humour me, won't you? Mwah.
My questions were kindly provided by the lovely Neil from Oeillade. I apologise in advance for what I know some/most of you will find dreadful hippy shit in this thing. But that's who I am.
1. You can have one superpower. What is it, and why?
Hmm. It's perhaps an indication of my state of mind that the first two things that come to mind are:
The ability to shape-shift, so I could morph into other shapes/people and find out what people are saying about me
The ability to read minds. Because I seem to be appallingly bad at telling what people think of me.
So far, so teen angst, right?
Anyway, fuck all that. I'll take X-ray vision, so I can look at everyone's rude bits.
So long as I can turn it off at will. Funerals, family gatherings, every time Michael Winner comes on TV, and so on.
2. If you could pick up your life and move it - lock, stock and barrel - to another place and another point in history, when and where would you put it, and why?
Man. This is a really tough one to answer.
Most of my initial thoughts were about going back to a different period of my own life - taking my current state of mind/happiness (ok, not including right now ;), friends and work situation back to times in my life when maybe I wasn't so happy; definitely back to a time when my folks were alive, and a time before I made some of the decisions that, while I don't out-and-out regret them, I could have made better.
But y'know what? I know that all of the things that happen in our pasts contribute to what and who we are now, and although things are far from perfect at the moment, in general I'm so much happier with my life and myself right now than I ever have been. All of the shit, and the quirks, and the bad decisions and the "making the most of it" times have helped make up who I am and where I am right now. And, even given my (hopefully temporary) mindset at this specific moment in time, who I am and where I am right now aint such a bad thing.
So, while I'd love to go and try out various periods in time (70's, particularly - hippies AND punk), I wouldn't want to stay there for good. Most of the reasons I'd want to go back in time are to do with music - bands I'd like to have seen live, festivals I would like to have been at, but I love the music scene today, so that's not a good enough motivation for me to pick a time to "stay" in.
As for places - I've always really wanted to live in New York, so maybe I'd move everything there. I have absolutely no idea why. I've never even been there. I just fancy it. But more than anything, I fancy exploring the life I have, in the place and time I have it, with the people I meet in it, far more than any alternate reality.
3. What will the future look like?
Not Orange, that's for sure.
Ideally - corporate globalisation would eat itself and we'd return to a more co-operative way of living with each other, where people care more about other human beings and the world they live in than they do about designer labels, coffee shops, plastic surgery and replacing their car/3-piece suite/home decor every year. Not total hippydom or owt - I just find it sad that nowadays it's, like, way uncool maaaaan to give even the slightest shit. About anything. For the vast majority, the idea of "Think globally, act locally" has gone out of the window, replaced by "Globally, we're screwed. Consume. Think of yourself. Bollocks to everyone else".
Realistically - there'll be another recession/depression, a very mild version of the above will happen for a while, then it'll all start up again.
Sorry. That was a bit heavy, eh? And I'm sure you're all rolling your eyes at the goddamm hippy now. Hehehe.
As to what my personal future will look like:
Ideally - carrying on with the cool work/life balance I have at the moment, though ideally in a more creative field. Being in love with someone who loves me too, or at the very least being in situations with other people that don't end up making me feel even shitter about myself. Making music. Doing all the stuff I do now, with the people I do now, plus new and also fabulous ones.
Realistically - downward spiral in worklife, ending with being fired from world's most boring job for not being enthusiastic enough during 20-hour shifts, desertion by friends as they move on in fabulous lives, string of fruitless and unfulfilling sexual liaisons, alcoholism, dementia, 15 cats, brown cardigans, stinking of piss, dead for three months before anyone realises.
4. You can be one musician - living or dead - in their pomp, at the height of their powers. Who is it?
Not sure. I think most of the really great musicians have been pretty fucking miserable, especially at the height of their powers, so that ruins things a little... Maybe Jimmy Paige, because he managed to be one of the greatest guitarists ever, without going completely and utterly mental/dying. It's a toss-up between doing that, and being Kurt, so I could get him off the drugs, away from the spotlight, and keep him alive.
Or possibly even Liberace, for the sparkle.
5. You have one wish. Make it and tell us what it is.
If I tell you, it won't come true, will it?
Maybe that doesn't count if you write it down...
I wish for love. For everyone.
And a guitar, painted with the kind of sparkly stuff you get on fairground rides.
Just for me.
Because even hippies are greedy sometimes.
Anyway - I am not a hippy.
Or at least, not just a hippy.
That's two wishes, isn't it? Can I just wish for "requited love for everyone", which could cover my sparkly guitar too?...
posted by bandhag | 7/28/2004 11:58:00 PM
Tuesday, July 27, 2004
I can't write.
Not that I have no thoughts. I have plenty. Too many. But they are not things I'm happy to blog about. Things have happened that have left something of a bad taste in my mouth and I feel... well, a bit of an arse, for a start. Among other things, I'm regretting being as open as I have been (which, admittedly, is not that open, but more than I originally intended on being) on this fucking thing and in my life in general.
See? That's already too much, and it's not even half of it. I'm in full-on retreat mode. I'm even struggling with writing about my favourite live musical experiences (as suggested by Vanessa) because they're personal and I'm not comfortable with personal right now.
And I'm not happy about posting this, either, because what's the point in saying "Hi, I'm writing a post to say that I'm not writing a post"? Just needed to write something to get me out of this "staring at the screen, nothing doing" thing.
Bear with me. I'll snap out of it, and I'll be back to bore you with the serialised "My favourite live musical experiences" jive.
Don't turn blue with all that breath-holding, now...
posted by bandhag | 7/27/2004 04:36:00 PM
Saturday, July 24, 2004
They are in lieu of words. My brain is temporarily out of stock in terms of bloggable thoughts.
Any suggestions gratefully received.
posted by bandhag | 7/24/2004 01:31:00 AM
Thursday, July 22, 2004
I know everyone complains about fitting rooms. "The lights!" we wail "They're so unflattering!". But they're more than just unflattering. There's some kind of bizarre supernatural, Stephen King-esque witchcraft going on in the fitting rooms of Britain. How else could you possibly explain that, no matter what lighting I've looked at myself in, in any number of places I (or friends) have ever lived, or even (extremely rare) pictures of me in a swimming costume or whatever, I have never managed to recreate the shop fitting room effect, which is that I'm wearing a pair of flesh-coloured leggings, into which someone has attempted to cram the entire annual production of cottage cheese from the local dairy?
Yes I know. I've turned you on, haven't I? My email address is at the top - please don't fight the urge to flood my inbox with offers of sex/marriage, etc.
Fortunately, I had the good sense to give up clothes shopping before I was compelled to start carving up my legs to make jacket potato topping, and headed off to geek shops. My wallet is considerably lighter, and I have a new keyboard (I'd broken the 'delete' key... go figure), a DSL router that I'm going to have to take back because it's the wrong thing, a tattoo magazine, Morrissey's You Are The Quarry, The Cure's new album, and "Ibiza: The History of Trance".
Next time, I'm just going to go with my tried and tested "pick up something that looks like it might be the right size and try it on at home" routine. It's much cheaper.
posted by bandhag | 7/22/2004 02:58:00 PM
Tuesday, July 20, 2004
Can't sleep again. So here's an MP3 I found on Dearie Me and also maffydoo
Instructions are as follows...
Step 1: Open your mp3 player/music application.
Step 2: Put all of your music on random.
Step 3: List the first ten songs it plays, no matter how embarrassing.
Ok, here goes. I'm not one of those people who's recorded all their CDs onto mp3, so the ones I have are things people have sent me, things I've ripped to send other people, or stuff I've downloaded from the intermaweb.
Le Tigre - Get Off the Internet
Good start, though perhaps I should take it as some kind of sign... This is off the Le Tigre EP that I don't have, so I'm not sure where I got it from. Not their finest song, but Le Tigre make me happy happy happy, oh yes indeed.
Freelance Hellraiser - A Stroke of Genius
That there bootleg that mixes The Strokes with Christina Aguilera. Fabulous. And makes me chortle because every time R&A play it, the dancefloor is flooded with people whose faces very often register horror when they realise it's not just a Strokes song. Haw haw.
De La Soul - All Good
Yeah, they did other songs than just "3 is the magic number" and stuff. This is one of their less hippy songs, features a good funky melody and some female soul vocals and is veh good.
Karl Denver Trio - Wimoweh
Er. Yeah. Karl Denver was a yodelling type man from the '60's, and this song was basically ripped off to make Tight Fit's "The Lion Sleeps Tonight". I think I downloaded this in a fit of music geekery because I expected it to be the case and wanted to check. Ahem. No, I don't know why.
Althea & Donna - Uptown Top Ranking
Best reggae song ever? I heart this track and it took me ages to find it to download. See me in me pant and ting. Innit.
The Breeders - Do You Love Me Now, Jr
A version of The Breeders "Do You Love Me Now" with J Mascis (of Dinosaur Jr) duetting (sp?) with our Kim. The original is fantastic as it is, but this is even greater.
Wu Tang Clan - Gravel Pit
Yes, I likes me hip hop and rapping and that, by gum. Fo shizzle. Word.
Bikini Kill - I Like Fucking
I do, too. Again, not my favourite song of theirs - I think it came on a disc of mp3s someone sent me once. But I do heart Bikini Kill. And girly punk stuff in general, as it goes. Not embarrassed by this one, either.
Peaches - Lovertits
Conversely, this probably is Peaches best song. This reminds me of being at Reading with R&A and R and I opting to go and see Peaches instead of...hmmm...someone else. Can't remember who. We didn't stay long. Peaches was in her underwear and it was like watching your drunken aunty stripping off and doing karaoke at a family party.
The Cure - Halo
Ouch. The song itself is gorgeous and the lyrics are beautiful. I love it so much that it just reminds me why you should never listen to love songs when you are in love. It just makes them incredibly painful to listen to when you're not.
On that note, time for bed.
posted by bandhag | 7/20/2004 01:13:00 AM
Monday, July 19, 2004
The cat is in my bad books.
I am in my own bad books.
I forgot about keeping the window closed. I did not learn my lesson, and the inevitable happened. The cat brought in another mouse. A very alive mouse, which she chased under the bookcase. I spent a stupid amount of time laying on the floor trying to find it so I could perform the now well-rehearsed "round it up and put it out" routine, while Lovely Flatmate (who is terrified of meeses and was home sick from work) looked on. Eventually it was decided I'd need to move the books off the bottom shelf, as it must be hiding up on the skirting board.
As I moved the last handful of books, up scampered the mouse and in the split second I looked away from it, distracted by LF's screaming, it disappeared.
I have had to set a trap. A humane one, because I don't like the other options - I really don't relish the idea of waking to find a mouse either snapped in half, glued to the floor or, worse still, find just its foot stuck in the trap, knowing that it's gnawed it off in agony and is now peg-legging about the place, all deformed and bitter and hell-bent on revenge. Like a tiny rodent pirate.
The man in the pet shop laughed at me because I confessed I was buying just the one trap (rather than shitloads, or a ton of poison) to catch just one mouse that my cat has brought into my house.
Stupid pet shop man.
Stupid disappearing mouse.
Stupid hippy cat.
posted by bandhag | 7/19/2004 11:59:00 PM
Man, I'm a lucky bastard.
Got a text from R while I was lounging around trying not to be hungover, saying she was just starting to cook some breakfast and did I want to come over. Mmm, just the job - and it's always nice to spend post-club mornings with them, so off I popped. In the middle of it being cooked I had to run away for an appointment to view a potential house with Lovely Flatmate and her bloke (who it looks like might be moving in with us when we move), and R told me to come back anyway, as she would keep the breakfast warm for me. Ruler of the Planet, that one.
The house we viewed was a palace of ming. Absolutely huge for a three-bed, but it needed gutting - we're talking a mix-and-match nightmare of violently-coloured swirled and patterned 70's carpets, ancient paint that was cracked and peeling everywhere you looked, wallpaper that had been torn off the walls in great chunks in various places, ropey-looking electric sockets. The bathroom was the worst - mildew on all the walls, paint flaking off the (obviously damp) ceiling, no shower, and a mass of ants swarming up through the bath plughole and making pretty patterns with their tiny black bodies against the lurid turquoise of the bathroom "suite". The whole place looked like it hadn't been cleaned properly in years and had the air of a crack den/halfway house.
We politely declined.
So, back I went to R&A's, ate up the characteristically delicious breakfast and sat around shooting the breeze and watching last night's BB and some Happy Tree Friends. Meanwhile, R cooks home-made rice pudding and I have some of that too. Full of meat and sweet, I totter home to do some work (yeah, you heard me, ya lucky 9 to 5 slackers).
Back home Lovely Flatmate's bloke, N, is cooking a roast. "Its for you too - it'll be ready for about 9". I am unsure. I feel gluttonous. I say yes. A few hours of speedy guilt-fuelled working later, I am pumped full of roast beef and roast chicken, potatoes, yorkshire pud and veg. N had watched Jamie Oliver doing a roast earlier in the day, and Jamie says to put in an extra egg in the yorkshire batter, as it makes them rise better. He may be a fat-tongued twat, but that Oliver sure knows his eats.
I'm not sure this is what the gym instructor guy meant when he said I should keep a food diary...
Anyway, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to roll over to my bed and wait for Jerry Springer to send his men to cut the side of my house off and airlift me to the nearest liposuction and stomach-stapling clinic.
posted by bandhag | 7/19/2004 12:30:00 AM
Sunday, July 18, 2004
Had to wash my hair, took me ages, realised it didn't smell/look any better after I'd started than when I'd begun, put me contacts in, went round R&A's, saw what's going on the SR50 CD... veeeery nice, journey to club, good music in the car - as always, different route, put slap on in the toilet, drink, drink, drink, very quiet, talk to P for a while, go upstairs to natter at A for a while, come back down, good music, too quiet to dance, drink, drink, S&M arrive, make mental note to do joke about their initials, never get round to it, back upstairs, take over from A for a while, back downstairs, dance, chat to club friends, they imply shenanigans between me and some girl while I'm trying to get info on A Boy, seems he's with the cool ex and probably there is Stuff and possibly Things going on there, oh well, dancey dancey, drink drink, dance, gay man says I have nice eyes, "Um. Oh, look over there - things. And...stuff", resolve to learn how to take compliments better, more chatting, more dancing, R joins us, booties are shaken, club suddenly over, back to R&A's, unable to stop self being stoopid about self and own rubbishness, sitting around, having a chat, hug with A, want to hug R too, curse self for not being huggy friend like I want to be, resolve to surprise friends with more frequent hugging and hope it catches on, chat some more, invite to brekky in the morning - rar! wander home in semi-daylight singing MBV to self.
A good night. Yes. You should come out with my friends. They rule. Actually, no, you can't. They are mine. Bugger off. I will fight you. With sticks.
Love you really.
posted by bandhag | 7/18/2004 03:52:00 AM
My friends rule.
posted by bandhag | 7/18/2004 03:40:00 AM
Saturday, July 17, 2004
How long have I been a Strong Independent Woman (TM) for now? And yet I've still only ever managed to time the video to record something while I'm not there ONCE.
No Big Brother, No Queer Eye and no Will & Grace. Just a three hour tape of blue screen.
Still, I know what happened in BB. Grrr. Stoopid gullible British public. They should just replace all programming with panto, and have done with it.
posted by bandhag | 7/17/2004 12:11:00 AM
Friday, July 16, 2004
I was in the pub, with me sisters. It's Middle Sister's local, and she's quite friendly with the barman. He was trying to chat her up. In order to chat her up, he needed to know basic things about her - age, whether or not she was single, etc etc. So he did the oh-so-subtle thing of asking us all. He asked me first. "You're the oldest, aren't you? What are you - 23?".
A ha. Ha. ha. Very good, son.
"Hahahaha, no she's not 23!", exclaim the youthful siblings, in delighted coquettish manner.
"No, I know - my dad always said to guess a woman's age about ten years younger than she actually looks."
I was still being asked for ID to buy cigarettes four years ago. And now I look four years older than I actually am?!
posted by bandhag | 7/16/2004 11:56:00 PM
Thursday, July 15, 2004
According to me and all the people I've discussed this with, it's only boys that get blue fluff in their belly buttons. Girls get gunk instead.
(And yes, this is another part in the series entitled "Things I think about instead of sleeping")
posted by bandhag | 7/15/2004 03:53:00 AM
Tuesday, July 13, 2004
The person who came here searching for "how to tell when someone fancies you". Oh the irony. If you come here again, let me save you some time - I have no fucking clue, I'm the absolute last person you should ask, so go somewhere else. And when you find an answer, email it to me at ONCE!
That is all.
posted by bandhag | 7/13/2004 02:22:00 PM
People keep giving up/taking extended breaks from their blogs all over the place.
Bah. And also - humbug.
posted by bandhag | 7/13/2004 02:29:00 AM
Sunday, July 11, 2004
Some band on first replacing Black Wire and god DAMN me if I don't forget the name instantly. Arse.
They're ok - your lone guitar and drummer outfit, with vocals over the top - Japanese and female, so that's always extra points, innit? Can't go wrong. And they don't, really, though their set's so short it would be hard to. wish I remembered their name...
Next up is Selfish Cunt. Selfish Cunt is wearing a dress. Selfish Cunt throws himself into the audience, perhaps expecting them to hold him up and allow him to crowd surf. This is London. The crowd looks uneasy and then parts, and Selfish Cunt lands with an audible thud on the floor. R points out later that when he lifts his skirt to the audience, you can see the enormous graze on his hip.
I feel bad for him. Not because he hurt himself, but because his music is actually quite good if you can get past the art school bullshit that makes up his performance. Tonight, I don't feel in the mood to do so, so I find myself thinking 'meh' and actively willing the next band onstage. I'd like to see him again, because I suspect he has fallen foul of my disagreeable hormones.
Gin Palace, then. I don't care what anyone else tells you, Gin Palace are a basic punk rock band. The lead singer dresses like a 50's/60's lady. She has the figure for it, and she dances like the Sex Pistols brought out records in the Olden Days. She oozes cool, no doubt about it.
There's a "next big thing" buzz around this band but I can't help but wonder whether if she got up on stage and sang in the exact same way she does, but not being as attractive, wearing a t-shirt and jeans and not doing the little retro dance, people would pay any attention to this band whatsoever. I suspect not, and that kind of pisses me off. Do you need a gimmick if you have a strong female presence in the band? A certain style of dress, or some politics or a particularly interesting haircut? It seems so, sometimes. I like to close my eyes and listen to them. I wonder if she's taking the piss, if she knows - if she sees things like I do.
But then, along come KaitO and you wonder whether all that 'women in the band' nonsense is just an excuse for bands to do badly or hide their talent under the bushel of lady foofoo. Nikki is really growing as a frontwoman. She's always been cool, but there's a new confidence in her that's probably grown (in part at least) from the number of kids moshing at the front of the crowd. Gemma is, as always, the First Lady of Rock, Dave makes his mental guitar noises and 'oohs' and 'ahs'. Dieter smashes his drums like he's playing his first real gig in front of paying punters, enthusiastic, passionate and playful.
Just like always.
We realise not long into it that KaitO are no longer the secret band we've loved for years. Other People love them, too. The Kids are going nuts at the front of the crowd. KaitO are "getting somewhere". And that's cool. Especially as I manage not to let the moshing crowd spill my pint. They play Thwipside for the first time in ages [edit 19/7: no they don't - it was Trailous. I am shit with song names. Thanks for spotting, A], and Go is well-received, as always. They're headlining tonight but there's no airs and graces. They're beaming as always, happy that people are happy to be there. They deserve this and they deserve more. I find myself wondering, not for the first time,who's funded tonight's free gig and why. Maybe just someone with enough sense to know KaitO need to be seen by as many people as possible. More likely someone who's aware that they, Gin Palace and Selfish Cunt are likely to become real money-spinners in the not too distant future. Either way, it's an ace night.
posted by bandhag | 7/11/2004 11:38:00 PM
Saturday, July 10, 2004
I am at grave risk of becoming a gym bore, so fascinated am I by the fact it now takes a good 10+ minutes to get my heart rate up to the "training zone", whereas it took about 30 seconds for it to go racing up to three times its resting rate when I first started a mere four weeks ago. And my resting heart rate itself? 58 beats per minute, thanks. It was 68 when I started, and the average is 60-80 so yes, I do feel rather smug. You may worship my elephant-like slow heart beat if you so desire. Don't leave spittle on my shoes.
As I pointed out to R on the phone earlier, this clearly means my years of not taking certain drugs for fear they would make my heart explode were entirely wasted, and is an indication that I should now be shovelling as many Class A's as I can get my hands on down my craw asap. Possibly. It's more likely an indication that I'm an extremely lucky bastard, to have smoked for 14 years and have a decidedly un-dicky ticker. Mind, I have the lungs of an infant child to make up for it. A small, wheezy, sickly infant child what coughs every time it tries to move, poor little blighter.
Yes. So. Gym bore. I promise not to do too many posts about this (but should mention that I apparently have very flexible legs "considering". Ding dong! Even a back-handed compliment is a compliment where my fitness is concerned). I did my first bout of upper body 'resistance training' (lifting weights, innit) yesterday. Gym Instructor Man was extremely surprised and impressed that I was able to handle weights that "most women can't cope with until they've been doing it for a while".
Yes! I am a VIKING. I'm all over those jive ass weight machines. Huh! Kiss mah bad self.
But today, mighty vengeance is being wreaked upon my sorry hubris-y self. Damn Gym Instructor Man. Damn him to Hades for egging me on instead of letting me do the tiny girl weights. Bah.
Scratching my ear brings agony in the triceps. The thought of having to bend my arms back to escape the bra it took 20 minutes and teary eyes to put on makes me consider bathing and sleeping in the thing until the pain subsides. I had to hold the phone in my left hand because my right one's gone all limp and pathetic. And I have mucho hurty in the upper boobular region.
However, I feel sure that if I keep my chest, shoulders and upper arms perfectly motionless from now until my next session, all will be well. Perhaps some kind of body cast is in order.
Typing is ok, though.
It's all in the forearms.
posted by bandhag | 7/10/2004 04:18:00 PM
Friday, July 09, 2004
Kitty Bandhag doesn't seem to understand that cats are meant to be ruthless killing machines. Instead, she views any animals she catches as toys, to be brought, unbroken, into the comfort and warmth of the house and played with.
As a result, I've had to become a mouseherd twice in as many days. She brings one in, she lets it go, she watches it scamper around, she beams at me "Hee hee! Look at the little running thing!" but doesn't actually make any move to catch it, so it's down to me to spend ludicrous amounts of time panicking it's going to go somewhere I won't be able to get at it, then rounding the poor little bugger up into a box or something so I can sneak it out into the garden while she's still staring intently at whichever bit of furniture she last chased it under.
A bit of intermaweb searching has revealed that these are house mice - probably very young ones. She's obviously catching them outside, but I'm now having to keep the windows and doors shut so I can inspect her when she comes in, to see if there are any little critters in her gob - I really don't want a bloody mouse infestation, particularly as they're well known for getting inside boxes/laundry bins/etc, so can easily be moved from house to house.
Bah. It's my own fault, of course. If I was a bit more ruthless about killing spiders/voted Tory/read the Daily Mail/supported the war in Iraq, she'd just slaughter them immediately and smear their intestines on the door like she's supposed to.
posted by bandhag | 7/09/2004 06:01:00 PM
Wednesday, July 07, 2004
Godsend is not very frightening. If you're big into your horror/suspense films, chances are you'll be a bit disappointed. If you know basic biology, it's a given that you will be.
However, they did well on casting a boy who could look very cute and then extremely evil by turns.
That is all.
Good day to you.
posted by bandhag | 7/07/2004 01:57:00 AM
The foxes round here sure are feisty. Just heard one snuffling around in the front garden, then after a few minutes it started scratching to get in at the front door! Kitty bandhag saved the day by growling at it through the letterbox.
Perhaps it was trying to burgle us. Poor thing - probably didn't even know what it was doing, it was so smacked up on goofballs. It's a sign of the times. There are so few opportunities for young foxes these days, and the benefits aren't enough to live on.
I'll leave some helpful pamphlets in the recycling box for it to peruse.
posted by bandhag | 7/07/2004 01:40:00 AM
Saturday, July 03, 2004
First up were Help She Can't Swim. They're fucking ace. Like a mixture of Pretty Girls Make Graves, Sonic Youth and BiS, they sound familiar but unique, all at the same time. They've not been going that long, but already I'm noticing their set's changing, getting more sophisticated and they're really tight. Lead singer Lisey is the epitome of uber cool and watching these youngsters banging out their punk pop like they're seasoned pros, you just know they're going places. Really liked What Would Morrissey Say and Are You Feeling Fashionable, but they didn't play My Favourite Lay, which was a little disappointing but ok, since I bought the EP. Hurrah!
Distophia were next on. Earlier, I'd managed to confuse the hell out of one of them by mishearing him ask if I was R, saying yes and looking confused and startled as to how he knew who I was and what the hell he was trying to ask me. Sorry about that, mate... Anyway, I've mentioned Distophia before, when we went to see them in Stoke Newington. Again, they're a retro-sounding band, but manage to do it in a way that you never find yourself thinking you've heard it all before. One of their tracks sounds so much like Dinosaur Jr it's unreal, and as I (and everyone else) have said before, most of their stuff sounds like a mixture of them and Pavement, so we heart them very much, oh yes. Even though they refused to play Joanne. I dunno - these youngsters, they're already in the "we don't play that song any more" phase. Now that's rock.
Headliners were Torgas Valley Reds, who were pretty ace too, thanks for asking. Another good rocking punky-type band. Sorry, I can't remember anything more specific to say. Which is why I don't do reviews. Heh.
And then many hours spent dancin and chattin and generally having a fantastic time to R&A's superb dj'ing.
posted by bandhag | 7/03/2004 12:44:00 PM
Another agency gazumped mine and filled the position. I'd love to say they offered it to me and I said no. Either way, I'm not disappointed other than from the money point-of-view.
posted by bandhag | 7/03/2004 12:08:00 PM
I met fellow blogger Oeillade this evening. I forgot to tell him the fancy proper French way to pronounce his blog's name, but I expect he probably survived....
He's a very nice man indeed. I felt guilty for not saying before the club that I'd probably see him there, but wasn't sure if I'd actually see him there or not.
I did. He came. I always do - R&A put the night on and they are my bestest special lovely friends.
I feel like a false advertiser - my photos are much more flattering than the real thing. hehehe. But he's a gent, he managed not to say "Christ, you're way uglier than you look in those photos!
I have had alcohol, yes, thanks for noticing.
In other news, it's been suggested to me this evening that this boy I fancy might possibly fancy me, also. I don't really believe this but I have no idea what to do about it if it's true. I mean, what do you do in such situations, if no-one is doing the chatting up or the making a move? I'm extremely bad at being able to tell if people fancy me unless they're really blatant about it, so find it hard to believe. Also, his ex is someone I think is really cool, and I don't fully understand what the situation is there.
so. um. yeah. We'll see.
I "came out" to R and A about the blog this evening. they took it well. they will probably have blogs of their own before long. And now I've come out to them, fuck it - I'll be reviewing gigs, talking about stuff and things.
Who cares who finds me. I'm ready to be found.
Maybe... [edit - errr. maybe not. drunken bravado]
I'll start with a lame ass review of tonight's gig. Sometime tomorrow. Should sleep now.
posted by bandhag | 7/03/2004 03:39:00 AM
Friday, July 02, 2004
One of the things I do for one of the companies I work for is to maintain their contacts database. Among other things, I have to add records to it. I had to add one for someone with a name so fantastic that I am now compelled to buy a pair of mice or goldfish or something, just so I can name them after her and the other person (who I've actually met) with my favourite name ever.
Yes, my new pets will be called
Fanny Boogers and Bernd Kuntz
posted by bandhag | 7/02/2004 12:41:00 PM
Thursday, July 01, 2004
I've been listening to a lot of my old house and trance stuff just recently. Poor A was shocked and appalled when he came to pick me up the other week and some old Ministry of Sound album was wafting out of my bedroom. He managed not to sputter "B-b-b-but this isn't ROCK!" but did say to R later on "I caught her listening to trance the other day!" like he'd walked in on me rubbing one out over a photo of Peter Beardsley.
I'd almost forgotten how much I love dance music. It makes me feel peculiar. It makes me want to get up and dance. That's ok - everything seems to make me want to get up and dance. Remember Baggy day the other week? Turned into Baggy few days... But with this stuff, I also want to get up and clean the house. Or go for a walk.
I'm blaming the gym entirely. Brainwashing me into [shudder] activity with their uplifting melodies and high bpm nonsense blaring out while I'm gettin my groove on on the cross trainer.
Pass the glowsticks, dear.
posted by bandhag | 7/01/2004 11:11:00 PM
So I went here, via here, and apparently, my alternative porn name is Arcadia Juggs if I use my real name and Daisy Kleevage if I use Bandhag.
Regular readers/commenters over at Kitchentable will know that my non-computer-generated porn star name (the one where you take your first pet's name and your mother's maiden name) is Ginger Clack.
I'll leave it to those who know me to decide which is more appropriate...
Huh. Which reminds me. Best 'come out' to my friends about my blog some time soon.
posted by bandhag | 7/01/2004 10:57:00 PM
Yes, I've updated my links section again. With mouseover titles and everything! Some of people who are kind enough to link to me, and some who I've come across (matron, etc) through my blog wanderings and liked veh much.
Um. Yes. Ok, go on about your business now. Nothing to see here.
posted by bandhag | 7/01/2004 02:05:00 PM
Horrendous night last night.
I'd just dozed off and felt myself coming round. Realised I couldn't breathe and felt some kind of pressure on my face. I started panicking a little but then thought "No, it's ok, I must be dreaming. I'm waking up now, it'll be fine". Only it wasn't. Because I was trying to open my eyes but could only open one eye a tiny bit and my vision was blurred - something was keeping my eyelids pressed down. I saw the blur of a man's arm pinning my shoulder to the bed. And that snapped me awake enough to realise this man had his hand over my face - covering my nose and mouth completely and keeping my eyes shut. Awake enough to feel he was laying on top of me so I couldn't move. Awake enough to smell him and hear him breathing. I could feel myself suffocating and was trying to fight, scream, open my eyes - panicking that I must have left the door unlocked and all the time really feeling like this was real. That I was awake and conscious, but only just, and that I was about to die.
I was already crying and whimpering like a spaz when I finally managed to really wake up. "Just a dream" I comforted myself. "Maybe sleep paralysis. Just your subconscious being evil in the way that only you can be evil to yourself". "Teach you for going to bed early".
Then mused for a while that I should try harder to pretend I'm really terrified of someone pinning me down to my bed and subject me to hour upon hour of fantastic sex, see if I can fool my subconscious into "torturing" me with that one instead.
Ho ho ho. Laugh it off. Turn all the lights on, just to be on the safe side. Get up, check all the doors. Go back to bed and stare at the ceiling for hours, telling yourself you're not scared to go back to sleep, you're just not tired any more.
Dealing with nightmares - like assembling IKEA furniture, finding inventive ways to reach the top shelves at supermarkets, and never having someone to kick out of bed to make you a coffee in the morning - these are the things that make me think "Fuck being a strong independent woman of the 21st century. I want someone to take care of me. Wah!"
If anyone wants me, I'll be hiding behind the sofa.
posted by bandhag | 7/01/2004 01:07:00 PM