You And No One Else

I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about music, specifically (but not limited to) the question 'What Makes A Good Song?'. Whilst I am yet to crack a definitive answer, I can safely say that a large part of it resides in it's ability for personal identification. Some of my all time favourtie songs are the ones that I swear are written about me, regardless of whether I know the author or not.

Self-obsessed much?

Such is the power of this notion that there have been songs I've heard once, thought little to nothing of, then heard again and listened more intently to the lyrics and instantly adored.

That's some powerful shit if you ask me.

Anyway, with all that in mind, here's a piece of art that's as close to perfection as anyone could hope to get. If you're one of those types who passes Radiohead off as pathetic whinging prats then this will be lost on you, and you have my pity.

To Quote Mr. Bulsara

It finally happened....



....I am currently working weekend shifts. I dont mind it so much-I'm never at a loose end on a Saturday and I'm always occupied during those most dreaded hours of a Sunday afternoon (between 4pm and 6pm). The downside is, I have to be at work at 8am. Now, I can already hear some of you, particularly those with offspring no doubt, saying something to the moronic effect of "Oh 8am? That's a SLEEP IN!!" If you are they type to say and think such things, then I direct you to my balls, for the sucking thereof. 8am is early for me (and hopefully always will be) and it's somewhat of a struggle to make it on time.

On top of this woe is my inability to obtain sufficient sleep. The cause(s) of this is no great mystery, but it always seems that little bit more difficult to nod off knowing that I have to be awake early the next day.

As a general rule, I usually set my alarm to go off an hour before I'm due to be at work. Doesn't leave me with much time but it leaves me with enough time. So last night I set my alarm for 06:30. Of course, I awoke at about 04:30, and my brain started grinding into action, and all the things that currently cause me concern started causing me concern, and next thing I knew it was almost 05:30, which meant I had to be up in about an hour, which I'm sure you can imagine, was starting to give me the irrates. But eventually I nodded off for a little while and woke again at 06:20. I got up and started my routine, calculating what time I would need to leave in order to go and do the things I needed to do before I made it to work, when through the haze I had a startling revelation, and whilst standing alone in the kitchen, I asked out loud;

"Did I just set my alarm to go off half an hour early?"

After trying to remember what time I started work last week, and doing the time calculations one more time, my brain responded with a resounding 'Yes. You set your alarm to go off half an hour earlier than you needed to'.



The spiral continues.

Meeting One's Idols

Recently I met someone who is currently very famous (I wont divulge details. Not that I want to be one of those secretive idiots, it's just that who it was is largely unimportant). The person in question is not someone I admire or am a fan of, but there are a lot of people who would have given their proverbials to meet them, and it got me thinking about the personal heroes that I have met.

By and large, meeting your idols is something that should be avoided. I have been (I'm not sure it's the correct word) fortunate enough to meet a good deal of the people that I truly admire. I can't think of a single one that was ever rude, arrogant or disrespectful, but after I meet someone that I idolise I can't help but feel a bit stupid and a little bereft.

Don't get me wrong, it makes for good dinner party conversation, but when you stand back and think about it, there is really nothing you can say that is of any merit or importance. Most of the celebrities I've met have been musicians, and some of them have produced work that has and still does profoundly influence, enrich and effect my day to day life. When you meet someone who's responsible for something so influencial, you get this inate desire to let them know that you get what they were trying to say on such a higher level than their regular fans, and you try so hard to genuinely thank them for providing you with said nourishment.

But generally, it goes like this;

ME : "Hello"

FAMOUS PERSON : "Hi"

ME : "It's so great to meet you. I really love what you do and just wanted to say thanks"

FAMOUS PERSON : "Thankyou. You're welcome"

ME : "No seriously. Thanks so much"

FAMOUS PERSON : "That's ok"

ME : *adoring stare*

FAMOUS PERSON : *awkard silence*

SECURITY : "Ok buddy, it's time to go"


OK. So that was a dramatisation, but you get the idea. In case you don't get the general idea, the following is an excerpt from a real conversation that occured in March this year when I met Colin Hay. A man who's musical genius knows no bounds and someone I am in total awe of;

ME : "Hi"

COLIN HAY : "Hello"

ME : "I just wanted to let you know that your music is amazing"

COLIN HAY : "Thanks very much"

ME : "I really liked you in Scrubs. What was that like to work on?"

COLIN HAY : "It was fun"

ME : "Ok, well thanks again"

COLIN HAY : "You're welcome"

It's weird because you were expecting somethine more, though you don't know what that was, and when you said thanks you wonder if they know how much you really meant it. Then eventually you realise that at the end of it all they're just a person, and when they said you're welcome, they probably really meant it, and you go home and listen to the piece of themselves that they recorded and you listened to and drew nourishment from, and you understand that they've already given you enough.

Determination : I'm Speechless

The Downward Spiral

Yesterday I spent in excess of $300 on a set of saucepans.

It's not the amount nor the product that is causing me concern-as disturbing as they both are-it's the fact that I didn't feel anxious or unjusitifed in my purchase, and I'm actually quite looking forward to the first time I can use them.


If in the near future anyone hears me start a sentence with the phrase "On Better Homes and Gardens last night....", please, please, throw a black bag over my head and bundle me off for an intervention.

Questions We Feel Bound To Ask

I've been giving some thought to common questions people ask each other. I don't the mean everyday 'hi, how are you' type, I'm talking about personal questions, you know, the ones that once asked are usually tagged with a 'you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, I wont be offended', but everyone knows that you DO have to answer it and whomever asks WILL be offended if you don't.

For example;

I have recently signed a new contract at work. The question most people have felt bound to ask is "how much money is it worth". So now there's at least 10 people who know how much money I earn per annum, and yet I don't have a clue as to what any of their net worth is. It's one of those highly personal questions that somehow, somewhere, has become totally acceptable to ask, and what's even more baffling was my compulsion to answer.

What's the moral of this story? The next time you want to ask someone a personal question, start out by asking them when the last time they took a dump was, because as far as personal questions go, that one is right up there with the best of them. If, upon asking, you find it makes you or them uncomfortable, don't ask any more personal questions. If either of you has no problem asking or answering, then you've pretty much got free reign to ask anything you want.

Let Me Get Back

It has been a while since I've had the opportunity to post. It's just like John said, I've been planning to but life has been happening. Consequently I've got a bit of a back log, so strap yourself in. Or just check back from time to time. I can't promise it'll be good, but it will be something.

In Answer To oj's Question

Sorry I should have done this in the original post. Barbara is Barbara Lynn. Here's a brief blurb about her. As for the tantalising single note work, well, I guess that's Barbara for you. I must admit I was left hanging myself.