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Posts archive for: 18 July, 2007
  • It's all me, me, me ...

    Oh my god, I love Caffreys. It's so smooth and creamy, and lulls you into an extremely satisfying mellow drunkness. Spirits are the worst for me. I can get hyper and start shouting. Beer and wine are fine, happy drunk - the best drunk. But why do I get drunk? I don't know, analyse my life and tell me if you disagree with what's about to come. I like being drunk amidst large groups. It's a coping mechanism. I become less aware of myself and more chameleon-like, feeling like I blend into the surroundings.

    I don't understand why some people are so judgemental. I watch Big Bro and I read Heat magazine. Have you classified me yet? I suppose you have. What if I also told you in my CD collection there are numerous pop and dance albums. Yes, you can put your brain on auto-pilot and decide what kind of person I am. It's a natural reaction. A short-circuit to the brain so we require less thinking time. The official clarification? A stereotype. We all do it, I know I bloody well do it. What annoys me is the people that look down on me for watching Big Bro or reading Heat. Sure, that's where some people stop. But then if I told you I read biographies about dead Russian presidents or that I have in my CD collection anything and everything from Paul Simon and Miles Davis to ?. Or is that me over-analysing others' reactions?

    Think abouy it. A conversation. We are going to take Heat magazine as an example. I read Heat magazine. You can see the reactions of others. Some raise an eyebrow, some ask why. Why not? Sure, it's the gossip, it's about the only crossword I can do without asking someone else the answers and it also has the TV guide. I don't need to justify it but for people who can think they are better than me, will (in an obvious way) look down their noses at me. It's fun, it's light entertainment, and god, after all the crap that happens on a day to day basis we could do with something light.

    OK, so then we come onto the morals of such a magazine. It's an invasion of privacy, blah de blah. I guess it is a vicious circle, I can't jutisfy it. The media do create and maintain a celebrity's status. But I do think it is part of the territory, and some people crave it. For example, the whole world seems to know a lot about Posh & Becks. What do we know about Tom Hanks?

    I digress, but the point I want to make it don't judge me on it.

    I loved the film ??? (forgotton it's name - Robin Williams is the therapist with the two young guys who also wrote it), and his character explains go out there and breathe the air of a country, soak in the culture. Basically live it, don't read it. I've just spent over a year living in another country. I can talk about the people of that country, their values, but I will also never know what it is like to be bought up such a country. Even if I moved there when I was 18 and lived there for the rest of my life, took their citizinship, I would never have their in-built cultural psyche.

    For people that visit another country and get frustrated (and I mean REALLY frustrated) don't go there. Respect the country you are in. Respect the people, respect the values.

    Oh, time for a ciggy and TV viewing. Catch you later. From one semi-insightful person to another over and out (that's from me to me, har har).

  • Ego-centric ....

    I'm lucky. Generally, I'm a stress free, laid back, relaxed and somewhat lazy person. In the days when I was a commuter on the tube and there were delays, mainly on the way home, I would sit watching and listening to people tut, moan and gripe. Sat there for twenty or so minutes on a train that isn't moving, what can you do? Get stressed or sit and read your book/someone else's paper/the products Argos has on sale. Erm, the latter please.

    See, these things make me laugh. Life has it's ups and downs, over the years, and in the space of twenty minutes. Sometimes, it's beyond your control, so you just have to ride it out.

    That's me at the minute. I'm on a bit of a downer, but I know there is light at the end of the seeminglessly endless, narrow, claustrophobic tunnel. So as long as that wee little Argos torch doesn't break I'll be onto a winner! Let me out, let me out. It's a bit like being a fish in a deep puddle.

    What I love even more is that I don't make sense. There is no rhyme or reason, but there doesn't need to be. All this crap about form, style, rules in everything we do. If you're good at something, you're good. It you're crap at something, you're crap. You can learn goodness from crapness, or merely enhance the crapness. If you know you're crap you're onto a winner. If you enjoy the crap then do it anyway. I know this is non-sensical, but do you know what? This is my blog and I just don't care. Ego-centric, gosh, I think so, don't you?!

  • The next steps ...

    Oh, I am so overwhelmed.

    Looks like the plans are slowly forming for the next phase of life. Was starting to get a little worried there, honest.

    I do think I have serious problems which need to be addressed, however. I can hold my hand up, in amongst this little blog circle, and say without hesitation 'I am addicted to Scrabble'. God, just saying those words I feel the pressure lift off my shoulders like the letter tiles sat precariously on them were made of tin foil. Phew. Maybe now I can move on and leave this soul destroying part of my life in the garden shed, where it belongs with the lawn mower and the carcus of the mouse the cat caught pre-2007 when it was still alive.

    Crikey, it's raining again. Oh, I must say, the grass has never looked greener. And those birds! Look at them hopping about after a shower! Bet they never had it so good. Worm central the back garden is now! Hop on board the worm train, choo choo. Come on birds, buy one get one free! Save your seat now! Terms and conditions do apply (or should that be worms and conditions?).

    Ahh, the release. Going for a ciggy and a poo, catch you later.

  • Tired? A wee bit, yes ...

    I'm actually pretty tired. Just had a late night jaunt to the petrol station and to the coach station where I live. Wild, yes sirree. Not many folks on the road at this time of night, just the odd drunkard who insists on using the white road markings as a pavement. A bit like bowling really. The drunk as the skittle and me in my car as the ball.

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