More things that piss me off at the moment

- Frodo
- Tim Burton’s Planet of the Apes
- When a shitty song that you didn’t even know you had on your ipod comes on and appears to be 3 decibels louder than anything else you have on your ipod and  there are too many people on the bus preventing you from pulling your ipod out of your pocket and pressing skip. So now Johnny random next to me thinks i’m  into Kylie Minogue…
- Going to sleep when the sun is still up
- TV shows like CSI and such that can ‘zoom in’ and ‘clear up’ cctv footage. Why then are we still looking at blurry pictures on crimewatch?
- When people answer an either/or question with ‘yes’. Which one dickhead?
- Men’s clothes. I went shopping recently to get some trousers for a party and the only two styles the stores seemed to have was one called ‘Skinny Carrot’,  and some other style that is only suitable for a skinny bow-legged jockey.

A song that makes you happy…I think this might be the toughest one for me to decide. Happiness is not something i can relate to, it’s too abstract. I can think of song’s that make me smile or laugh but is that really happiness? I need something tangible…Euphoric? Sure i could come up with a song that elicits a drug-like response, but happiness? Happy like what?

Even if i think how other people might answer this i struggle. Say some do-gooder out there thinks of Louis Armstrong’s Wonderful world for example. I don’t think that song makes me happy. If anything it makes me think of the all the shitty things going on that don’t match up to the illusion of the song. If i think of a song to remind me of someone or something good, invariably it is back home in Oz and it saddens me that i’m not there.

So i began making a shortlist of songs. Blind Melon, No rain? Hardly a happiness inspiring song, though quite a happy melody. Sneaker Pimps 6 underground? Doesn’t really invoke overwhelming joy, though a sarcastic nod of towards a common train of thought can bring a wry smile to the corner of my mouth. Bob Dylan’s it ain’t me babe? Similarly cynical though not really what i would call happy. I was going to say Brian Jonestown Massacre – Sue in that i always feel calm and tend to drift away when listening to that song. I guess that is the closest i could say i get to happiness…calm and not thinking about anything in particular.

But then i figured i’m just thinking about it too much and instead i’ve gone for the positivity machine that is Mr Rudd. A song that makes you happy or a song that is supposed to make you happy…

So my parents now officially know the address of my website. Scary. I guess this is like the first time Marilyn Manson’s parents went to see him perform live…hmmm do i wear the black crotchless corset or the red one… Still i’d rather be Marilyn Manson’s parents than say the Pussycat sluts or Christina Aguilera or some other vacuous husk.

Mr Manson: Not counting the millions of dollars he has, my son (sic) believes he’s the antichrist, but is reasonably intelligent and has multiple degrees.
Mr Pussycat Slut: Oh we’re a….we’re not counting the money then? ah….ok….well….My daughter’s a ah….no….talent….trollop….

Not that i would ever try to justify the ‘acquiring’ of music in any way shape or form or by any means other than purchasing it at your local music store or through the iTunes that these kids are playing with today…but i kind of had a thought today that regular concert-goers are far more beneficial to the artists themselves than their loyal catalogue-hungry fan base. I have no viable statistics whatsoever here and Phil may need to back me up/contradict me but the more biographies and autobiographies that i read of people in the ‘scene’ it seems like the percentage from each record sale actually lining the pocket of the artist is miniscule at best. Yet when i think about it – particularly after me and Silk were trying to work out how much Mudhoney were pulling from their recent tour – it seems the best way to show appreciation both physically and fiscally is to show up at the gig. I don’t know if the old songwriters breakdown happens when performing live in terms of splitting up the kitty, but once the venue and promo people are paid the rest must go to the band and roadies right? That’s got to be a bigger percentage than off a CD and playing to a packed venue is more easily assessed as to the progress of the band than a top 250 charting single in Denmark…

If that is the case then i can rest a hell of a lot easier.

I have tried to change my ways but the simple fact is i will only buy copious amounts of CD’s when i get back to Oz. It’s not something you can easily travel with. I have been fairly selective in purchasing cd’s while abroad and still have a good 100 or so to lug around with me. I set myself a goal where i was going to spend 50€ a month in this cd store in Sachsenhausen thinking i was contributing something back. It’s a fucking second-hand store! The artist gets nothing from me anyway. Last time i went in i came out with 3 Bob Dylan CD’s, Bruce Springsteen’s Darkness on the Edge of Town and the best of the Small Faces. I don’t think any of these people are seeing a dime of my 30 odd euros. Is it better to line the pockets of some re-sellers or keep my money to buy the proper cd’s at a later date? Ponderous.

I’m wondering how long i can maintain this facade and not talk about poo…

I’ve been noticing that German women, or should i say women in Germany, seem to have no qualms at all about wearing fur. There is not even the slightest bit of embarrassment or uncertainty about how they will be received…no it is with utmost pride that they bandy about their minks and ferret(?) coats (please note i have no idea what furs are made of and can only guess here). I don’t really have a problem with this either, it’s just curious to me. It’s like that whole PETA furore never happened over here.

You’d probably get lynched for wearing real fur in the UK or the US i’d imagine. At least drenched in paint by a plastic punk. This woman sat next to me on the train and absolutely reeked of perfume like she had been swimming in it. I couldn’t breathe properly. As i was feeling feint and slowly passing out i caught a glimpse of her fur coat out of the corner of my eye and for some reason all i could imagine was that she was the old woman from 101 Dalmatians. I wasn’t sure if i should look at her on my way out and ruin my dream or just duck her and keep the dream alive…

Today i sat next to the old woman from 101 Dalmatians on the train…and she stank…

I think i am the only person in the bank wearing rubber-soled hush-puppies…i.e. the only person not wearing proper leather shoes. I only realise this when i have to go to the bathroom. There are these two corridors i must walk down which are quite narrow so everything reverberates. You can hear my shoes squelching away and then the clippity-clop of leather soles behind me that sounds like even the guys are wearing high heels. To compensate i drag my shoes a little bit and slide…cue internal monologue “i don’t even walk i slide motherfucker!”

(note my use of onomatopoeia in the previous paragraph. There is not enough onomatopoeia used today. I think three mentions of onomatopoeia justifies me tagging the word right?)

While i’m at it, i really fucking hate the phrase “Pick up your feet”. It’s just idiotic. How can one even do that? It’s not like it’s the total opposite of what you want, a la “Break a leg”…it’s pretty fucking directional.

I digress. I don’t think i have them fooled though. Probably the fact that my trousers are baggy and not tailored at all doesn’t lend itself to my decreasing professional image. I’m never going to be one of them.

I’m not going to lose too much sleep over that either just quietly.