I play the social butterfly when need be, say, I’m doing a show at a nightclub or promoting my music, but I'm actually pretty introverted. I like my own company a lot of the time, and the friendships I keep have grown slowly but surely. I'm not one for fairweather friends, and while I have acquaintances, I often default back to hanging out with me.
I missed a lot of rock shows and movies over the years, due to not having anyone to go with. Few of my friends share my interests - which could beg the question why we are friends at all, hehe, but it's mainly because I have a strange collection of likes.
Anyway, I eventually told myself to go and see whatever band I wanted; once in a gig, no one can tell if you're alone or separated from friends anyway. So, in 2008, I booked a flight to my favourite city, Berlin, to see Whitesnake and Alice Cooper, my two favourite bands. It was the best thing I ever did - the floodgates opened!
Next stop, Brussels, Belgium. Not only did I get to see Whitesnake up close and personal again, I got to meet the support band the next day, who were pretty down to earth, and made some new Belgian friends.
Today I tackled the lone cinema outing. I woke up at 11:22 and it was gloriously sunny. Usually, I hide indoors, regardless of the weather, and emerge under cover of darkness, like a phantom. But today, I was itching to do something with my day, for a change, and everyone I know works a 9 to 5 or lives out of town. I’d been looking forward to Salt since Angelina Jolie was pictured on set last year – call me a fan, or whatever, but I enjoy her performances, and love action movies, particularly with a political or conspiratorial slant.
Since it started showing, I couldn’t think of anyone who would come, so today I thought, "Sod it, I’m going.”
I hopped in the shower and called a cab, so I didn't have enough time to worry about what others would think about the pathetic Billie No-Mates lurking in the shadows. Fifteen minutes later, I was at the ODEON at Liverpool One, queuing for my ticket, and wishing I’d remembered the kids are still off school. Fortunately, they were there to see something else, and once inside the viewing room, there were plenty of seats and I was mildly surprised to see about half of the small audience were lone viewers. Though why one man bothered to pay and then spent over half an hour outside on a phone call is beyond me.
I’ll leave it to Sony to write the blurb:
As a CIA officer, Evelyn Salt swore an oath to duty, honor and country. Her loyalty will be tested when a defector accuses her of being a Russian spy. Salt goes on the run, using all her skills and years of experience as a covert operative to elude capture. Salt's efforts to prove her innocence only serve to cast doubt on her motives, as the hunt to uncover the truth behind her identity continues and the question remains: "Who is Salt?"
Written by Sony Pictures
There were enough twists and turns to keep me entertained and the only problem was the effect the huge drink had on my bladder – why do cinemas serve refreshments in such huge sizes? Seriously! I struggle, and I’m 6ft2; I don't know how children manage. I spent the last half hour in discomfort, not daring to visit the toilets - this is where a friend comes in handy - "What did I miss?" I suffered in silence and as soon as the credits rolled I was out of there and into a stall.
I enjoyed Salt and would likely see it again, but most of all, I enjoyed crossing the barrier of doing things people usually do in company. I’ll do it again! I like going to the cinema with a friend, but the good thing about going alone is I could get completely engrossed in what was onscreen. Afterwards, I picked up my mic system that I’d left at the music store for over a month, and then treated myself to a Long Island Iced Tea before heading home.
Why does this blog entry suddenly read like something I wrote in primary school....
Sometimes, I have to remind myself, what others think isn’t important. Now I have a cinema club card in my possession, it seems a few more visits are on the cards. I’ll take a lunchbox next time. I found the experience liberating. Now I've done it, I think I'll check out some of the arthouse and foreign films at FACT. And I'd quite like to see Inception again.
Tuesday, 31 August 2010
Monday, 16 August 2010
Sometimes, this spinster wishes she were a dolt...
So, I've decided I shall bemoan my singleness while I'm hormonal. It's better to feel sorry for myself than be bitchy...although, sometimes I'd beg to differ with myself.
Anyhoo, tonight's complaint is this. I probably shouldn't aimlessly surf so much...
Apparently, only 0.003% of the British population share my IQ. I just read a post on a forum that says exactly what I'm thinking!
---
"The truth is, intelligence, being smart, really truly smart, is a horribly lonely affair. It is soul-crushingly lonely. For someone such as me with an IQ as a stupid, naive, child was last measured at 142. That's roughly .14% or 14 / 10,000. Now restrict that sample to agiven location and there may be (if you're lucky) a few hundred people in the area you live in (this depends of course on where you live, I'm speaking for my current situation). Now how many of those are roughly your age? How many are of the opposite sex, emotionally compatible, attractive, and single? In many to most cases the answer is nearly nil. What are the odds of meeting such a person? Imagine how lonely a situation that is, and it's just simply arrived at by simple analysis."
---
For me, that percentage works out at approximately 1500. FIFTEEN HUNDRED PEOPLE. Of these people, how many are male and single and possess all the other attributes mentioned in the excerpt above?
No wonder I'm a spinster! >:(
One might say choosing a mate on intelligence is unnecessary, but even if I were not attracted to the mind, more often than not, men date women less intelligent than them. And shorter than them. And less bossy.
*sigh* I guess I could sell my eggs...at least I'd get some recompense!
Anyhoo, tonight's complaint is this. I probably shouldn't aimlessly surf so much...
Apparently, only 0.003% of the British population share my IQ. I just read a post on a forum that says exactly what I'm thinking!
---
"The truth is, intelligence, being smart, really truly smart, is a horribly lonely affair. It is soul-crushingly lonely. For someone such as me with an IQ as a stupid, naive, child was last measured at 142. That's roughly .14% or 14 / 10,000. Now restrict that sample to agiven location and there may be (if you're lucky) a few hundred people in the area you live in (this depends of course on where you live, I'm speaking for my current situation). Now how many of those are roughly your age? How many are of the opposite sex, emotionally compatible, attractive, and single? In many to most cases the answer is nearly nil. What are the odds of meeting such a person? Imagine how lonely a situation that is, and it's just simply arrived at by simple analysis."
---
For me, that percentage works out at approximately 1500. FIFTEEN HUNDRED PEOPLE. Of these people, how many are male and single and possess all the other attributes mentioned in the excerpt above?
No wonder I'm a spinster! >:(
One might say choosing a mate on intelligence is unnecessary, but even if I were not attracted to the mind, more often than not, men date women less intelligent than them. And shorter than them. And less bossy.
*sigh* I guess I could sell my eggs...at least I'd get some recompense!
Saturday, 26 June 2010
Don't drink and dial!
Wolf called Jessica again but it went straight to voicemail. “Hey,” he said, sighing. “If you’re there, talk to me. I’m tired of playing games. I just wish you’d pick up.” He slid down the wall and cradled the handset between his jaw and shoulder, resting both arms on his knee. “I know I hurt you. A lot. But…I love you.”
There. He’d said it. And he couldn’t take it back.
“I love you,” he repeated, growing confident on Jack Daniels. “I know I didn’t handle things properly…I’ve got issues and I took my frustrations out on you. I guess I felt safe venting to you, but I didn’t think about how it affected you. What can I say? I’m selfish. But I do want the best for you and that’s why I was horrible, ‘cause I thought if I pushed you away, you’d go off and find someone who’ll treat you like you deserve to be treated. I know that sounds stupid, but it made sense to me at the time. I was wrong and I can’t deal with letting you go. You’re amazing. I just hope you achieve your dreams.”
Wolf paused, suddenly feeling foolish instead of brave. “Anyway, if you want to call me back, we can talk properly,” he rushed. “If not, fine. I’ll respect that. I’m leaving on Friday, so…just call me.”
He hung up and dropped the handset to the floor. What a whiny idiot. He should have learned by now not to drunk-dial.
“What’s done is done,” he muttered, reaching for the bottle and taking a slug.
* * *
Over in Santa Monica, Summer and Jessica stared at the answering machine.
“Girl, call him!” Summer nudged her. “He’s just bared his soul to you – what are you waiting for?”
“His drunken soul,” Jessica said cynically.
“Aw, he needed Dutch courage. I think it’s cute.”
“A whisky-soaked rock musician clogging up the voicemail is hardly cute.”
There. He’d said it. And he couldn’t take it back.
“I love you,” he repeated, growing confident on Jack Daniels. “I know I didn’t handle things properly…I’ve got issues and I took my frustrations out on you. I guess I felt safe venting to you, but I didn’t think about how it affected you. What can I say? I’m selfish. But I do want the best for you and that’s why I was horrible, ‘cause I thought if I pushed you away, you’d go off and find someone who’ll treat you like you deserve to be treated. I know that sounds stupid, but it made sense to me at the time. I was wrong and I can’t deal with letting you go. You’re amazing. I just hope you achieve your dreams.”
Wolf paused, suddenly feeling foolish instead of brave. “Anyway, if you want to call me back, we can talk properly,” he rushed. “If not, fine. I’ll respect that. I’m leaving on Friday, so…just call me.”
He hung up and dropped the handset to the floor. What a whiny idiot. He should have learned by now not to drunk-dial.
“What’s done is done,” he muttered, reaching for the bottle and taking a slug.
* * *
Over in Santa Monica, Summer and Jessica stared at the answering machine.
“Girl, call him!” Summer nudged her. “He’s just bared his soul to you – what are you waiting for?”
“His drunken soul,” Jessica said cynically.
“Aw, he needed Dutch courage. I think it’s cute.”
“A whisky-soaked rock musician clogging up the voicemail is hardly cute.”
Sunday, 20 June 2010
Stop forcing me to smell the flowers, dammit.
I hate it!
I put Headliner away for a few weeks, so I can come back to it with renewed vigour for setting the scene. While I am a chatterbox, as are my characters, I am often concerned I don't have enough descriptive narrative in my novel; that's what the blogs and articles tell me, anyway. As a reader, I don't care what the author tells me a room looks like. If they've done a good enough job of shaping their characters and said characters' journeys, I can imagine how their room would be furnished without any help from the author.
However, it does seem this is an important feature of the novel (even though I tend to skim past descriptions longer than a few lines on a page when reading). The key is balance, but chucking a descriptive passage here and there for the sake of balance is not going to work. And my characters fly so fast through life, I'm not sure they even notice their surroundings. Being on tour, playing shows in different cities each night; one doesn't get chance to stop and think, let alone appreciate one's delightful hotel rooms.
Okay, that's my complaining done for the afternoon. When I get home after my show, I'll consider ways to address my predicament. While I write primarily for me, I do want to please my readers, too. Waaaaaa!
I put Headliner away for a few weeks, so I can come back to it with renewed vigour for setting the scene. While I am a chatterbox, as are my characters, I am often concerned I don't have enough descriptive narrative in my novel; that's what the blogs and articles tell me, anyway. As a reader, I don't care what the author tells me a room looks like. If they've done a good enough job of shaping their characters and said characters' journeys, I can imagine how their room would be furnished without any help from the author.
However, it does seem this is an important feature of the novel (even though I tend to skim past descriptions longer than a few lines on a page when reading). The key is balance, but chucking a descriptive passage here and there for the sake of balance is not going to work. And my characters fly so fast through life, I'm not sure they even notice their surroundings. Being on tour, playing shows in different cities each night; one doesn't get chance to stop and think, let alone appreciate one's delightful hotel rooms.
Okay, that's my complaining done for the afternoon. When I get home after my show, I'll consider ways to address my predicament. While I write primarily for me, I do want to please my readers, too. Waaaaaa!
Thursday, 17 June 2010
Why I don't often blog
I often thought I didn’t blog because I have nothing to say; now I realise I have far too much and my inability to easily organise my thoughts into cohesive separate topics is why I don't bother at all.
I pulled up a chair this morning and wore my earnest writer face. Shall this blog entry be about what’s on my mind today? Shall it be about serious issues? Sex? Work? Writing? My plants? My pets? My social life? My Americanisms?
Ah, sod it. I'll go eat something instead. A romp through my unhinged mind, visiting locked-up hiding places is a road trip I didn't prepare lunch for.
I need to give this more thought over steak. Which reminds me, I should write a post about my vegetarianism.
I pulled up a chair this morning and wore my earnest writer face. Shall this blog entry be about what’s on my mind today? Shall it be about serious issues? Sex? Work? Writing? My plants? My pets? My social life? My Americanisms?
Ah, sod it. I'll go eat something instead. A romp through my unhinged mind, visiting locked-up hiding places is a road trip I didn't prepare lunch for.
I need to give this more thought over steak. Which reminds me, I should write a post about my vegetarianism.
Friday, 14 May 2010
"I hope they like us."
After a two-hour delay, six-hour flight, and half an hour held up at passport control, Sapphic finally set foot in NYC. Travelling with an entourage afforded them the luxury of not dealing with baggage claim; fortunate, as there were foul moods all round as hangovers caught up. Five grumpy musicians collapsed in Arrivals area and Gemma went to see if the car had arrived.
Wolf grinned at his band mates. “Well, we’re here.”
“This is gonna be a blast,” Kev said, looking at the hustle and bustle.
Shane fingered his prayer beads for reassurance. “I hope they like us.”
“Course they’ll like ya.” Jacks cast an eye over his scruffy brood. “They loved ya last time.”
“I need a cigarette,” grumbled Spacey.
“Yeah, me too,” Wolf said. “Another bloody city with a stupid smoking ban. Sooner we get to the hotel, the better; I’m gonna smoke five at once.”
Jacks checked his Blackberry for emails. “Let’s get settled in and then we’ll go to Drill. Smoke all ya want there. I ain’t been back in a while, the place could be razed to the ground.”
“How come we didn’t go last time?”
“Ya did,” Jacks said wryly. “Ya were too wasted to remember.”
“I need a few hours kip before we hit the town.” Wolf yawned. If he didn’t get out of the airport soon, he’d crash. He switched his phone on and turned the handset round in his hand, thinking about the argument with Luna. The wedding couldn’t really be off. He cleared off to give her space, but now he wondered she’d mistaken his lack of contact for disinterest. Why couldn’t he keep his dick in his trousers? He flicked the handset open and speed-dialled her number.
Jay kicked his foot. “We’re off.”
Wolf looked up and saw the others following Gemma. He disconnected the call and stuffed his phone in his pocket. “Where’s our stuff?”
“On the trolleys.” Kev pointed to crew pushing luggage carts towards the exit. “Car’s outside, let’s get out of here.”
“Sweet!” Shane whistled, seeing the stretch limousine.
“Don’t get used to it,” Jacks said. “You’ll be slummin’ it in vans and buses. But it’s good to make a grand entrance.”
On cue, a swarm of girls rushed over. “Omigod!” screamed one. “You guys are that British band, right?”
“Yeah, Coldplay,” joked Spacey.
“No you’re not!” giggled another girl. She thrust a pen and piece of paper forward. “Sapphic! I saw you on MTV. Can I get an autograph?”
“Sure.” Spacey signed his name with a flourish.
“You guys are so freakin’ hot!”
“You’re the singer, I recognised you straight away.” A girl flung her arms round Wolf. “The album rocks. Can I get a photo with you?”
“Sure, babe.” Wolf grinned, Luna momentarily forgotten. “What’s your name?”
“Danni.” The girl pushed her phone into a friend’s hand and wrapped her arms round his waist. “You’re tall! And sexy.”
“This is a wonderful welcome, I must say.” Wolf posed for the picture.
The girl exchanged places with her friend, and then they all squashed in for Jacks to take a group shot of the band and their new fans.
“So are you guys in town to play a show?”
“Yeah, we’re at Club Europa tomorrow night – where’s that, Jacks? - and then we have a show in New Jersey the night after.”
“Greenpoint.” Jacks eyeballing the growing crowd.
“Oh, we are so coming!”
“You old enough?” Kev said.
“We’re twenty-one.”
“Of course you are.” Wolf laughed. “Listen, get IDs sorted, and we’ll see you at the show.”
The crowd grew excitable. Concerned for the band’s safety, Jacks signalled to security to get them into the car. Wolf stuck his head out of the window as the vehicle moved off.
“Club Europa, tomorrow!”
The crowd cheered and screamed, and a few girls tried to chase the limousine, but were soon left behind. With JFK not yet out of sight, the boys already had the minibar open.
“Fuck, yeah!” Wolf climbed out of the sunroof and blew a kiss at two women on the sidewalk. He bent down and grinned at his friends. “I love this.”
“How long ‘til we get to the hotel?” Kev handed Wolf a glass of champagne.
“An hour.” Jacks flicked through the documents on his knee.
“To conquering the States.” Wolf slotted in beside Kev. “World domination next!”
* * *
Read Swallow here
Buy Swallow on Kindle here
Wolf grinned at his band mates. “Well, we’re here.”
“This is gonna be a blast,” Kev said, looking at the hustle and bustle.
Shane fingered his prayer beads for reassurance. “I hope they like us.”
“Course they’ll like ya.” Jacks cast an eye over his scruffy brood. “They loved ya last time.”
“I need a cigarette,” grumbled Spacey.
“Yeah, me too,” Wolf said. “Another bloody city with a stupid smoking ban. Sooner we get to the hotel, the better; I’m gonna smoke five at once.”
Jacks checked his Blackberry for emails. “Let’s get settled in and then we’ll go to Drill. Smoke all ya want there. I ain’t been back in a while, the place could be razed to the ground.”
“How come we didn’t go last time?”
“Ya did,” Jacks said wryly. “Ya were too wasted to remember.”
“I need a few hours kip before we hit the town.” Wolf yawned. If he didn’t get out of the airport soon, he’d crash. He switched his phone on and turned the handset round in his hand, thinking about the argument with Luna. The wedding couldn’t really be off. He cleared off to give her space, but now he wondered she’d mistaken his lack of contact for disinterest. Why couldn’t he keep his dick in his trousers? He flicked the handset open and speed-dialled her number.
Jay kicked his foot. “We’re off.”
Wolf looked up and saw the others following Gemma. He disconnected the call and stuffed his phone in his pocket. “Where’s our stuff?”
“On the trolleys.” Kev pointed to crew pushing luggage carts towards the exit. “Car’s outside, let’s get out of here.”
“Sweet!” Shane whistled, seeing the stretch limousine.
“Don’t get used to it,” Jacks said. “You’ll be slummin’ it in vans and buses. But it’s good to make a grand entrance.”
On cue, a swarm of girls rushed over. “Omigod!” screamed one. “You guys are that British band, right?”
“Yeah, Coldplay,” joked Spacey.
“No you’re not!” giggled another girl. She thrust a pen and piece of paper forward. “Sapphic! I saw you on MTV. Can I get an autograph?”
“Sure.” Spacey signed his name with a flourish.
“You guys are so freakin’ hot!”
“You’re the singer, I recognised you straight away.” A girl flung her arms round Wolf. “The album rocks. Can I get a photo with you?”
“Sure, babe.” Wolf grinned, Luna momentarily forgotten. “What’s your name?”
“Danni.” The girl pushed her phone into a friend’s hand and wrapped her arms round his waist. “You’re tall! And sexy.”
“This is a wonderful welcome, I must say.” Wolf posed for the picture.
The girl exchanged places with her friend, and then they all squashed in for Jacks to take a group shot of the band and their new fans.
“So are you guys in town to play a show?”
“Yeah, we’re at Club Europa tomorrow night – where’s that, Jacks? - and then we have a show in New Jersey the night after.”
“Greenpoint.” Jacks eyeballing the growing crowd.
“Oh, we are so coming!”
“You old enough?” Kev said.
“We’re twenty-one.”
“Of course you are.” Wolf laughed. “Listen, get IDs sorted, and we’ll see you at the show.”
The crowd grew excitable. Concerned for the band’s safety, Jacks signalled to security to get them into the car. Wolf stuck his head out of the window as the vehicle moved off.
“Club Europa, tomorrow!”
The crowd cheered and screamed, and a few girls tried to chase the limousine, but were soon left behind. With JFK not yet out of sight, the boys already had the minibar open.
“Fuck, yeah!” Wolf climbed out of the sunroof and blew a kiss at two women on the sidewalk. He bent down and grinned at his friends. “I love this.”
“How long ‘til we get to the hotel?” Kev handed Wolf a glass of champagne.
“An hour.” Jacks flicked through the documents on his knee.
“To conquering the States.” Wolf slotted in beside Kev. “World domination next!”
* * *
Read Swallow here
Buy Swallow on Kindle here
Paparazzi get everywhere!
“Come on lads, leave it out,” Shane shouted. “Haven’t you got any heart?”
“Yeah, fuck off, vermin!” Wolf played the part of unhinged madman perfectly. He picked up a rock and lobbed it at one of them, hitting him square on the forehead.
“I’ll have you, mate!” The paparazzo bellowed in pain and anger.
“Blow me!” Wolf hurled another. “You’re trespassing!”
Kev joined him. An all-out riot broke out between the band and the hacks, as punches were thrown and equipment broken.
“Let’s get off!” yelled Spacey, jumping into the van.
The others got in without much hassle. Spacey grinned, safe in the knowledge they’d be the hot topic for the next few days; celebrities hated the paparazzi. Sapphic definitely had the sympathy vote.
Wolf shielded his face and gave the photographers the V-sign as he legged it back towards the main building. He was in his element!
* * *
Read Swallow here
Buy Swallow on Kindle here
“Yeah, fuck off, vermin!” Wolf played the part of unhinged madman perfectly. He picked up a rock and lobbed it at one of them, hitting him square on the forehead.
“I’ll have you, mate!” The paparazzo bellowed in pain and anger.
“Blow me!” Wolf hurled another. “You’re trespassing!”
Kev joined him. An all-out riot broke out between the band and the hacks, as punches were thrown and equipment broken.
“Let’s get off!” yelled Spacey, jumping into the van.
The others got in without much hassle. Spacey grinned, safe in the knowledge they’d be the hot topic for the next few days; celebrities hated the paparazzi. Sapphic definitely had the sympathy vote.
Wolf shielded his face and gave the photographers the V-sign as he legged it back towards the main building. He was in his element!
* * *
Read Swallow here
Buy Swallow on Kindle here
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