The Soundtrack of Your Life, Part Na'kii

Right then, songs 7-12. Shall we begin?

7. Little Bird: Goldfrapp. It's the newest song on the list. It has bits of Cocteau Twins, Joni Mitchell and a good dose of dry wit in it. How can it not when you have a promotional video like this?

8. I am an Astronaut: Ricky Wilde/Snow Patrol. This song reminds me of Tendy. He sits in his carseat just behind me and we sing this while driving down the road. He loves this song and gets a pout on his face if I sing the wrong lyrics, which I NEVER do on purpose, nooo...

9. Heroes: David Bowie. There's such hopeful desire in the lyrics:

I, I can remember (I remember)
Standing, by the wall (by the wall)
And the guns shot above our heads
(over our heads)
And we kissed,
as though nothing could fall
(nothing could fall)
And the shame was on the other side
Oh we can beat them, for ever and ever
Then we could be Heroes,
just for one day

This sort of encapsulates the group dynamic of one day of gay pride. Enough said.

10.Foundations: Kate Nash. If you've ever been in a relationship that went down the plughole you will probably relate to this song. It's sucky and despite her relative youth, she nails the anger, the hurt, the desperation of clinging onto the last strands of hair that are swirling towards...the plughole. Kate captures the rawness of this event.


11.Skating Away: Jethro Tull. Most people laugh when I tell them that prog rock saved my soul. It was in the early 90's when a friend of mine turned me on to JT. I heard this song and really identified with the lyrics. The words are poetry set to music:

Here are the lyrics. I suggest a trip over to youtube to listen to the song if you've never heard it before:

Meanwhile back in the year One --- when you belonged to no-one ---
you didn't stand a chance son, if your pants were undone.
`Cause you were bred for humanity and sold to society ---
one day you'll wake up in the Present Day ---
a million generations removed from expectations
of being who you really want to be.

Skating away ---
skating away ---
skating away on the thin ice of the New Day.

So as you push off from the shore,
won't you turn your head once more --- and make your peace with everyone?
For those who choose to stay,
will live just one more day ---
to do the things they should have done.
And as you cross the wilderness, spinning in your emptiness:
you feel you have to pray.
Looking for a sign
that the Universal Mind (!) has written you into the Passion Play.

Skating away on the thin ice of the New Day.

And as you cross the circle line, the ice-wall creaks behind ---
you're a rabbit on the run.
And the silver splinters fly in the corner of your eye ---
shining in the setting sun.
Well, do you ever get the feeling that the story's
too damn real and in the present tense?
Or that everybody's on the stage, and it seems like
you're the only person sitting in the audience?

Skating away on the thin ice of the New Day.

12. Finally, the last track I'd have on my personal soundtrack:
Losing My Religion: REM. Okay, it seems a bit contrived, I know. The issue with me and organized religion, especially Mo'ism, makes this song quite poignant. I don't think I ever gave much thought to how deep the hurt of not living up to expectations ran, until a few years ago. I've got some decisions to make about my life, my relationships and I'm not really looking forward to "choosing my confessions, trying to keep an eye on you..." I might have a different song for position 12 in a few weeks' time.

You know, it's not really cool to end on such a downer. How about if I chuck in song 13? (drumroll, please)

13. Let's Dance to Joy Division: The Wombats. What can I say? I love this song. It reminds me of listening to early 'Pushstars'. Bit of a 'let's watch Rome burn' attitude. I admire that. Enjoy this vid, be careful that you don't get a bit motion sick.



xxAitch

Carol Burnett or Dawn French?

I missed having this question on the meme I filled in the other day. It's very difficult to choose between two very talented women, so I'll just leave you with my favourite Dawn French sketch, accompanied by Jennifer Saunders (and some other people who may or may not be famous...who knows?)

Time to Eddit

Well, you caught me. I'm one of those bloggers who throws up a post only to go back and change the wording, punctuation or syntax at a later time. It's a shame I don't edit my posts beforehand, because it likely shows that I have a cavalier attitude, which isn't true, or perhaps it indicates a tendency to say things that later need clarification, which is true. Either way isn't good, and I can only hope to improve my writing in the coming years.

I read more blogs these days than is sensible, really. I fret at times because I'm not one to really post about my deeper, darker secrets, though I admire those who can and are able to infuse a sense of humility through their writings. I think that shows a talent for cutting to the heart of a common, human vulnerability and we all have that, whether we show it or not.

I haven't got a clue as to posts in the pipeline. I think that the ideas I have will have to wait for a while. Maybe I'll finish the list of musical influences (I left off at number seven), maybe I'll have another pub quiz. Any ideas?

September, October, whatever...

Because Rageh Omar digs EW&F, and I dig Rageh Omar

I've got ten minutes.

I've got ten minutes to construct a lucid post before I have to jet out of here with a toddler-in-tow to playgroup. Can I do it? Doubtful. It's been one week since last I've posted on this blog. I've been flitting around and commenting on others' blogs (some nice comments, some silly comments, and some rather bizarre comments) - sorry if you were on the receiving end of one of my silly/bizarre comments. I'm up for blaming something else entirely, namely the water, the acupuncture treatment I've been receiving, the change of the seasons, the lack of inspiration for my own writing, my upcoming exams, the upcoming trip to Poland/France/the Maudsley, etc.

Right, I've now used up two minutes - I've got eight minutes left. Actually, I don't have eight minutes left because I do have to load the dishwasher, tidy up the toys, brush one youngster's teeth and hair. I'll sign off now.

Sleep Deprivation Sucks

It's a push to finish two papers due for university. One is an editing job, the other is my own writing. 8,000 and 2,500 words respectively. I've been staring at my laptop screen for the past hour and a half and it's all beginning to resemble a great big stupid whirlwind of text and b.s. and speculation. I'm whining today because I need a nap and I cannot function on three hours of sleep. I am a big old baby. Have a lovely weekend-I'm going to sign off now and go make z's.

Dreaming of Pooo, Part Doo

Well, it's quite sad that I've been so unmotivated to blog about anything other than faeces. Maybe it's how I feel...(fill in the blank), maybe it's what I've been doing - jack* (fill in the blank), or maybe I'm just going to finish off this line of thought and concentrate on another topic.

I've promised to write about the other poo dream to loyal readers of this fledgling blog and in the same way that 'Dangerous Liaisons' was the sh*tty Hollywood version of a much better movie, set in French, filmed somewhere in Europe and starring a much better cast of actors. This, too, is a better dream about poo than the last, which is probably why I remember it so vividly. This one starts in a rural village in New Mexico (no, I'm not kidding...), and before you get a bit ruffled, I must tell you that I grew up there which is probably why it figures into so many of my dreams.

Story opens in aforementioned village where I have been asked to make ceremonial poo balls (I don't know why, there's just a random ceremony happening). I mix the poo, which is a bit like horse dung and some rice and chili together. I have to taste it to make sure it's okay and to my recollection it tastes remarkably grassy and spicy. Quelle surprise! It's not a recipe I'm thinking of recreating at home, mind you and a 20 minute search on Google turned over no stones suggesting that anyone deliberately eats horse manure.

However, here is a highly specialised site that purports to be the the "Number 1 Source for your Number 2 business" with their very helpful column on what this dream might mean.

Dreaming of Pooooo Part Un

I had a very unsettling dream the other night about faeces. I have to preface this entry by saying that it was not the first vivid dream I've had about sh*t. I've had another one that clings to my psyche. It was just as unsettling as this one, even though I had it more than six years ago. I'm not sure whether my latest unconscious drama was due, in part, to reading the musings of another blogger, whose young son had a bit of an accident with his poo whilst in training to put down the diapers, or whether I should believe the dreams website and its interpretation of what defecating in dreams really means.

Maybe I should get down and dirty and tell you about my dream. If you're even the slightest bit squeamish, you might want to skip this post and get straight to the Latin for the Day. Okay...I was in a bathroom that seemed somewhat familiar, but I couldn't automatically place it. It did, however, have one of those fluffy magenta-coloured bathrug and toilet lid cover ensembles - a harbinger of bad taste, if ever there was one, but worse than that, it was rug on yellow pile carpeting. Double the germs and double the places where poo can land and hide.


I had come into the bathroom to have a shower but I had the sensation that I needed to use the potty for number 2. I tried but failed to crap and so climbed into an incredibly comfortable shower - perfect temp, LOTS of water pressure and slightly darkened from the heavy fabric shower curtain blocking out the light. As I was soaping up I could sense myself having a poo in the shower. I was immediately embarrassed and afraid of being found out. I caught as much of the crap as I could and threw it into the toilet beside the bathtub, but a lot of it got onto the tiles and on my forearms. It was the consistency of slippery fingerpaint and holding it and flipping it into the toilet felt similar to holding one of those sausagey-balloons filled with water that slip out of your hands and onto the floor. I couldn't enjoy the rest of my shower because I was trying desperately to clean the tiles, curtain and tub. Finally, the dream came to an end as others were trying to get into the bathroom to take their showers - I think that we were all headed out for dinner and I was holding up the works by pooping in the shower. What does it mean? Does it portend any events that I might want to tread through carefully? Can I think of any other silly double entendres or puns pertaining to sh*t? No. Okay. Part Deux to follow