Well I'm an energetic hypothetic version of another person
Check out my outsides there ain't nothing in here
Well I'm a superficial, systematic, music television addict
Check out my outsides there ain't nothing in....
This morning there was a lot of snow on the mountains. There is something inherently satisfying about standing at the sink washing up, and having a view of snow topped peaks and cloud, with North Vancouver in between. Fantastic. The view is apparently amazing from the top floor of the house, but I haven't bothered to sneak up there and check yet when the landlords are out. It reminds me how close we are to the wild here, even when in the middle of a big city.
Denise and I were watching some random programme on tv the other day which was reliving 1986 (there is a different year every show) and since then, we've been getting into downloading music from our younger days. Every now and then there will be a "Do you remember this one?" and something will float through the doorway of one or other of our bedrooms, to many screams of excitement (Boy Meets Girl), cheerful nostalgia (Vanilla Ice) or apalled-ness (Eiffel 65 - not 80s, but bad enough). Today I downloaded some Simple Minds, Mike and the Mechanics, and Chicago (the band not the film). Roll on more programmes with eighties cheese in.
Let's bypass the bullshit and move on
Because the minute hand moves faster than you think it does
And by no fault of yours, and by no fault of mine
The bottom line is laying in the bed that we've been playing in tonight
We've been playing in tonight
I had the urge to e-mail a friend I haven't seen for about 6 years over the weekend; a lovely French guy who had the potential to be a boyfriend but never quite managed it (due to my complete ineptness) in my first year in halls. He is about to graduate from Berklee after having worked through a scholarship in piano, and is about to move to New York, presumably to forge a music career. What is it about guys who are good at piano that is so attractive? Some of the best nights in Allen hall were spent catching the strain of music that came from the chapel room, leaving our rooms and creeping up to see who was playing in the dark; if it was Romain, we would inevitably slip through the door and find a chair at the back to watch him practise. He has the uncanny ability to switch between classical and modern music halfway through a song, but his biggest acheivement was jazz. Slowly, as he played his way through a piece, the audience at the back of the hall would grow bigger and bigger, as girls from all the blocks in halls came up to get lost in the music; at the end of the practice he would pause for a minute and then inevitably be taken aback when turning round to see that there were tens of people admiring his playing. It never failed to amuse me, or indeed to captivate me.
Anyway. Strange how you get lost in a memory sometimes, and wish that it would happen again just once, so you could remember how good it was. Hopefully I can get over to NY at some point and see him - and who knows, maybe then it will.
The only other thing to mention - a programme called MXC (Most Extreme Challenge) which is the funniest thing ever. It is an actual program (called, I think, Takeshi's Castle) which broadcasts in Japan, but here it is dubbed in a sarcastic way by American people. It goes on the same basic premise as the Krypton factor, mixed with It's A Knockout. People compete in events that are basically indescribable, but which include running over big rollers, jumping from stepping stone to stepping stone, dodging big boulders, running through a maze being chased by people in monster suits, and my personal favourite, riding a mechanised surfboard over a number of obstacles. All of which are conducted on a background of water, mud, more mud, and general crap. Add to this the fact that all the names of the competitors are turned into parodies, the voiceovers by the Americans are hilariously funny, the commentary bears no resemblance to what is going on, the jokes are full of sexual innendo, and the categories of contestants are complete bollocks ("this week, the sex workers versus the fast food workers") and you end up with a hilarious show. Which doesn't make any sense. At the end of every episode they have the 10 most painful eliminations from the show, which are usually, well, quite painful.
So none of that post was related to anything. My thoughts are very random today. But finally, a lyric that seems to echo the timing of my leaving and coming back to England:
No way November will see our goodbye
When it comes to December it's obvious why
No one wants to be alone at Christmas time
And come January we're frozen inside
Making new resolutions a hundred times
February, won't you be my valentine?
And we'll both be safe 'til St. Patrick's Day
Thanks John Mayer.