Wednesday, January 31, 2007


*Life Before Google.

once upon a time, children, there was no such thing as Google. I know, it's crazy to think of, but people actually had to find things out by doing research, looking in books, going to the library and so forth. And really, that was just for your everyday kind of research. How did people go about looking up a song and artist using three words of lyrics? where did people find out the history of obscure musical genres, or look for pictures of zombies holding kittens? Google is the ultimate in immediate gratification: no longer do you have to wonder about that niggling little question that's been bothering you for the last hour, just type a couple of relevant keywords in and bob's your uncle. Please pretend I didn't just use that phrase.

In any case... I seriously cannot remember what I did before Google. I'm pretty sure I was just uninformed. I guess I read the newspaper and magazines... But no I get to be a well-informed renaissance woman. Or, a dilettante.

Google is also useful for researching your friends. There's no better way to pass a slow day than to Type in their names and peek around the sock drawers of their lives. A word of warning though: don't Google yourself because you'll just become sick with envy at the jet setting, successful lives of the people who share your name.

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Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Interpol! Interpol! Interpol!

I once had this disagreement with Stephen. it wasn't a particularly heated one, mostly because it wasn't him doing his "Amanda is from South America" thing, which got annoying about 6 months in. We were talking in the car (road trip!) about music, because we're both kind of geeky about music (so far he's the only person I know I've been able to discuss my disappointment about the second Mars Volta CD with who doesn't glaze over or get all confused), and we're also both music snobs.

anyway, Stephen doesn't like Interpol. And I love Interpol. According to him, the singles were okay but the CD's were too gothy and too much like Joy Division. Now, for me this is their selling point: sounds Joy Divisionesque, but danceable and with fashion sense. Perfect for feeling more meaningful than your fellow man (or woman), in a bounce around the room kinda way. Also useful for breakups, PMS, black outfits (music as accessory, so chic!) and so on.

I tend to get obsessive about Interpol, and listen to every song repeatedly for about a month. and then I need a break for a bit. I don't think I could sustain that level of cool indefinitely. It gets me into trouble though. I'm a bit of an automatic dancer, and I got some funny looks at the supermarket the other day. It was say hello to the Angels. I at least have that in my defence. People are so conservative here though. Dance for five minutes in the Biscuit Aisle and it's like you pooped on their cupcake or something. I will not be constrained. I will not be reduced to mere head-bobbing or (shudder) toe-tapping.

Also, I must wear more black.

***When I'm feeling lazy, it's probably because/ I'm saving all my energy to pick up /when you Move into my airspace***

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Monday, January 29, 2007

the female DJs: they annoy me.

so, I don't listen to the radio anymore. Partly because the music they playlist is total and utter commercial crap ("aaaaaaaaargh! it hurts my ears! more Indie! more Indie!"), but mostly because the DJs make me want to scrape out my eardroms with a spoon. Or, maybe their eardrums. I'm no masochist (another reason I avoid the radio). Gareth Cliff is the King of the arseholes, aims for controversial, and misses wildly, often landing squarely in middle-aged-ladyland (which is not the same as electric ladyland, okay?).

However, my dislike of the male DJ's that blight the airwaves pales in comparison to my utter loathing for the girlyDJ's these days. I mean, they're all right as long as you don't expect a) intelligence b) informed opinions c) musical knowledge or d) the ability to coherently string two thoughts together and have them come out of their mouth in an interesting and engaging manner.

okay, Jeannie D was an exception, but Top Billing have her in their clutches now and she'll soon be lost to us. But so many of them seem to be hired, not even on the basis of their looks, or big boobs or something, but because they have nice shoes, or are really enthusiastic.

I admit, Maybe there's some lovely MetroFm DJ out there who is soulful, sultry and has the brain of a ninja robot (that's a good thing , see). But the Female "Radio personalities" I have had the good luck to experience...have made me long for the good old days of inequality.

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Monday, January 22, 2007

Your Schadenfreude is my inconvenience.

damn you sea water!

yesterday was a day of reckoning. Well, no, not really. It was more a day And Laundry. I went to the laundrymat and gave my stuff to the lady with the strange nose (it's squashed, bulbous and asymmetrical, and doesn't really fit in with the rest if her face, yet it gives her a somehow pleasant, garden-gnomish sort of appearance), bought a floor-cleaning-spongy thing, swept and cleaned the floor, and finally threw out the last of the cardboard, boxes, plastic and polystyrene that have been hulking next to the tv since I moved. it's amazing how much more space you have when your flat isn't overwhelmed by crap.

So, at about 2pm I realised that there would be nothing better on tv than cricket (ugh...zzzzzzzzzzzzz) and Mr Deeds (not my favouite Sandler movie), and the women's world cup of golf (help me I think I'm going to wee in my boyshorts from excitement, oh yes). So I decided, hey, I live 5 minutes from the beach and I haven't been in... weeks, and I can sit in the sun and tan. So I packed a little bag (blackberry mineral water and Mini heart biscuits, SPF, my library book and a towel), and marched over to Queen's beach.

all went well, and I was enjoying the sun, surf, and even the screaming fishwife who was calling for her son at full decibelness rather than, you know, moving closer to him ("Derryn! Come heeeeeeeeeeere!!! DEEEEEEEEEEEE-RRRRRRRRRRYYYYYYYYNNNN!!!). Then the freak wave hit. the freak wave that moved past where the tide had been gently hitting the shore (ten feet away from me), and thoroughly soaked me, my towel, and my library book.

cue me running home to attempt rescue of the novel through judicious sand removal, blow drying and clamping of book to prevent warping.

I'll let you know if it works.

But seriously. these things only ever happen to me..... I mean, I was nowhere near the sea! and the sea came and attacked me without provocation!!! And hurt my library book!

also, the people behind me laughed at my predicament. I hate them now.

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