Eye Contact.

I had just gotten into a taxi in the posh bit of town with two friends on Saturday, when an attractive woman walked past. I had accidentally become drunk* in the course of the afternoon so I decided to attempt eye contact. This seemed to go pretty well as we kept the eye contact up for as long as it took her to walk by the car, "I am a TOTAL STUD!" I thought to myself.

Then I asked Rob (who was next to me) if he had seen what had just happened between me and the woman,

"I'm fairly certain she was looking at me" he replied.

"No chance! Not with my drunken sex eye lasers!" I scoffed back.
At this point the taxi driver told us he too thought the street side strumpet was giving him the nice-eye.

At this juncture we collectively realised what had really happened. What really had REALLY happened was a car full of men (two of whom were drunk and far too scruffy to be in the posh part of town), had stared/leered at an attractive woman from within a stationary yet running car and scared the shit out of her. She was most definitely not making eye contact, she was keeping her eye on the us in anticipation of a kidnap attempt.

I hope I don't make any similar mistakes when I go to New York in a week**. I may well get maced or shot!



*It really was an accident. I haven't been drunk since January 1st and was lead a stray.

**This whole post wasn't just so I could shoe horn in a boast about going to New York.

OH LOOK I AM A POP STAR NOW, OK?

I am now a bona fide pop star! Now you can make me feel validated by pretending to like this unfocused noodling that I made in my bedroom instead of going out! I recorded it on a dictaphone. Why not have a dance about to it, or maybe just stroke your chin a bit and look well serious. I reckon I'll be on CD:UK by the end of the month if my 100+ profile views on myspace is anything to go by, yeah 100+ sounds like loads. I also think it's only a matter of time before I'm gracing the front covers of such music press stalwarts as Select, Vox and Smash Hits.

I will try not to let fame and fortune change me, but it won't be easy. I will be getting a ruby inset into my tooth just like Mick Hucknall pretty soon, and JK from Jamiroqui has challenged me to a race in our sports cars.

Ps. Three posts in a week! WTF?

I'm glad I'm not really stoned right now.

I keep thinking about something I wrote in the previous post. I wrote "actually, I'm about as wild, free form and creative as this simile". I don't know if this makes sense. It is either:
A) A brilliantly self referential simile that has blown my own mind, and that's why I can't stop thinking about it.
B) A poorly constructed simile that might not even be a simile, and is therefore rubbish.

I think it's probably the latter, but even if it is, it still might be successful in getting my point across about not being very creative because I am even incapable of writing a fucking simile properly. That means that I might be "wildly creative and free form" after all, OR it could mean that this is a huge load of self indulgent shit.

Old Notebook / Twat Archive

A couple of years ago I briefly carried a notebook around to try and capture some of my wild, free form creativity (actually, I'm about as wild, free form and creative as this simile) for future reference. The contents of this notebook give a valuable snapshot into how much of a twat I was just two short years ago.

It appears that I had a big(ger) anti-Bono thing going on back then. The notebook is littered with reminders to "write about how much I hate Bono". I had also written some shit rumours about him not being able to tell the time properly.

There's also an idea to annoy a colleague by loudly interrupting him whenever he read aloud from his newspaper. What sort of person writes a note on how to annoy someone? Jesus, I was quite a prick back then, I'm still fairly prickish now only in a much more spontaneous way (free jazz style whistling in the office anyone?).

The only thing from thing from the notes that ever made it on to this blog was my "re-write" of Jurassic Park 2. I found this drawing on the next page from the draft, clearly a career storyboarding beckons:






I'm pretty glad I've stopped carrying a notebook. For one thing, I always felt I looked a bit like an informant in a Eastern Bloc country during the Cold War, taking down names of people to shop to the local officials (especially as there is a page with a tally against some friends names in the book!). Stasi stool pigeon is not an image I really want to cultivate.