Tuesday, 1 February 2011
I type from space, 2011 is the future.
Sweet angels of my lifetime (the two people who read this nonsense inc. Carl and Mike). Bon voyage!
So Mike and Michelle had a teenie weenie baby girl, Darcy Rae Wightman. YES! Well reproduced to all involved!
So Carl and Tasha had beautiful bodacious sweet baby boy, Milo Theodore Godbold. YES! Well reproduced to all involved!
All involved are very tired but are warm, well and loving life. Healthy, strong and very vimmy.
In addition, after nearly 10 years with a beautiful, excellent lady, I asked her to marry me and she said yes. YES! YES!
On a less life-changing note; re: the Men Sound Design Trio, Carl and I recorded some more sing a few weeks ago. Carl did well. I got fed up. We're expecting mixes of our extended player to hear this week. Can you imagine?
Looking forward to hearing those.
Looking forward to facilitating the hearing of those by other people.
We did two three hour practises (totalling six hours practising) in five months and played a concert at the Arts Centre Arena in Norwich City Centre. Centre. There were lots of people we know there. If a close friend asked me to describe it, I'd say something along the lines of "We had a really lovely time, were very silly and played several of the songs quite well. I felt the first four songs were played better than the last three. My singing was not that good on the last three because I peaked too early and haven't sung in a fair while. On a whole though, it went well, thanks". This Business is Closed played several songs and were excellent. Holy State played several songs and were excellent. Not quite as loud as usual, which was good. Sometimes they're a bit too loud for me.
Those curators of Twee Off events at the Norwich Arts Centre Arena know what they're doing and they think about, that's for sure.
One day I'm going to get Mike to take a photo of me writing 'For Real' on my arm with a Sharpie in the backstage bit of the Arts Centre.
You know, Carl never ceases to amaze me. He has the best song memory of any youman bean I have ever played with. He could remember half a rifffff we played half the time, half a decade ago. He's like that recreational activity that was popular in parks and on beaches in the 1990s where a ball coated in female velcro was thrown, by a friend, at a hand-worn circular disc coated in male velcro. The ball is a song. The glove is Carl. They just stick together, remembering eachother.
Mike and I, on the other hand, are hopeless at remembering songs.
So, as the old saying goes, 'the EP will be done soon, best wishes'.
There is nothing on telly.
Personally, I've had some difficulties lately. Aweek afore athe aforementioned aconcert, I was practising some technical moves with my favourite ornamental samurai sword in my drawing room when I rendered my little finger in blood and in a state of very near stitchworthyness. I was washing up in the privacy of my own kitchenette when I was a little heavy handed with a very quaint Kath Kidston mug whose ceramic sought to tear through my little finger with ferocious intensity, rendering my sink full of blood and my little finger in a state of very near stitchworthyness.
I think this Bruno Mars song may centre around unrequited love.
If that weren't enough, that night after the concert I was accosted by twelve vampire townies (chavs, what have you) who were baying for my blood, or iPhone (whichever the more revered by Cash Converters). So, not one to go out without a fight, and being a keen amateur physician and mathematician, I took a split second to establish the position of each chavpire and calculate the perfect 'one shot takes all' throw (think Charlie Sheen's character in 'A Beautiful Mind'). So, with all my might, I unleashed the most savage underarm throw the world may have ever seen (I'm not 100% on this, I've not been keeping track). One by one, each chavpire flinched in slight pain and ran away, crying. Unfortunately, the altercation culminated with my iPhone lying face down in the street. I had smashed my screen. I had just parked in Sainsbury's car park (Queens Road, Norwich) to get a few essentials when I opened the door and got out. I heard a light bash on the mottled tarmac. It was my iPhone. I had smashed my screen.
Life without my iPhone has proved trying, at best. The toughest struggle was the adjustment to the walk to and from work without my favourite Replacements, Jackson Browne or 70s power pop song for company, until one evening when I just snapped. I discovered the truth. The non-digital media truth. The real truth. I discovered the act of racing one's self to or from work. Faster! FASTER, YOU TALL, THIN MORON! I felt a huge weight had been lifted. It doesn't stop there, either. You can get outsiders involved too! Just the other day I had an imaginary race to the chemist with a young couple. I won. I gave them quite the head-start too. I am so fast at walking to work that some people I've asked haven't even seeing me doing it.
We are now putting a film on.
'the EP will be done soon, best wishes'.
Jem (for and on behalf of Men Inc.)
Posted by Unknown at 11:28