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I painted my bedroom and got new storage boxes. It was pretty exciting.
I also went out to some birthday drinks on Saturday night, and when I got home I found a half eaten jar of Tesco Finest red onion chutney in my bag. I have no idea how this happened, and I am pretty sure it wasn’t me as I was only medium-drunk.
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did shopping on Saturday, bought a shirt. Had some lunch. Wore that shirt to a party on Saturday night. Talked some ridiculous shit to some people, a few of whom I only met that night. Went back to somebody's house, loaded up on vodka and supermarket brand energy drinks, played Rock Band. Watched a film called Murder Set Pieces from 5 am to 7 am, caught a tube back, dragged self to bed. Slept till 2, got up, planted on sofa, watched TV with Louise almost all day, drifting in and out of bouts of shame and paranoia as the caffeine dragged memories from their graves and paraded them before my minds eye. Watched Hamlet 2 with Steve Coogan. Watched a sketch show from 2005 called Spoons. Watched Nathan Barley. Watched. Watched. Watched.
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On Friday night I went to the lindy hop class and was a bit nonplussed by it all. There abuot 25 blokes and 25 ladies, and we had to pick a partner, and then all stand in a huge circle. The teachers stood in the middle and told us what to do. So first we did the basic footwork -- rock step, triple step, step, step, triple step. I couldn't really see the guy's feet, so I was buggered from the start. We did that once or maybe twice, and then they said, right, ladies, move on to the bloke to the left, so suddenly I've got a new partner to embarrass myself with for the next failed move. Having fucked that up as well, the ladies move round again, and so it went. I managed to fail to get anything right with, oh I don't know, 15 partners, all of whom had been before and knew what they were doing. It was pretty humilating, but that wasn't a problem, as part of the exercise for me had been to get out of my comfort zone.
I guess I was expecting to be able to say "woah, hang on, hang on, do you mean like this? Or like this? And then what do I do with my partner? How does this actually convert into dance? Can you go through it with me again, like I'm a dancing spastic, please?". But given the size of the class, that just wasn't possible. I was quite disappointed, and left as soon as the class was over, rather than hang around not talking to anyone before the intermediate class.
So I don't know what to do about it. Having someone to practise with at home would help, I suppose. But I don't. My cat is clearly not a lindy-hopper.
On Saturday I went for a run for the first time in six months, which pleased me no end. And I spent Sunday dicking about taking photos of various objects, experimenting with flash lighting and coloured gels and things like that. These are the best:
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Nice work with the colour flash experimentation, Mart. NWoD will remember I tried something similar last year with a sample pack of *Lee Colour Filters. I got some interesting results by using two gels - one on each side of the flash, and overlapping a bit in the middle. Also one gel over the flash, and a different colour over the lens. That was on my crappy old Ixus before I bought the E-510, but you've inspired me to dig them out again and see what's possible.
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Friday night I went out for a few drinks after work with a colleague whose birthday it was. Got collared by someone who isn't my management but pretty much manages a department above me who advised me to calm down my studies and that it was intimidating. I'll tell you what is intimidating. Having someone tell you to stop studying the course you're studying because it makes them feel like you're pushing for too much. Being made to feel like you have to learn only what someone else tells you, or that I have to toe their line. I don't think they realise it has made me change my mind about staying long term with the business and in actual fact I'd like to fuck off early and am looking for jobs again, because fuck man someone is actually trying to stop me getting an education. I've seen a lot but this is a new experience for me.
Got home and bought some beers for when Pia got home from Bath Uni and sat with a few cold ones playing Left 4 Dead while she watched her funny stories next door. Went to bed at a reasonable hour because I had to get up the next day to meet the Promotions Manager for a bar I promote for, as of May.
Got up in a fug of hangover because the heating had been left on at night. Showed new boss artwork which she liked. Went to visit a bandstand in the centre of Sutton to see if their are contact details there. handed in Pia's CV to a pub. Looked at a Tapas menu for All Bar One so we can convince the Manager of the bar to abandon the Thai idea and go with the Tapas. Had a burger and went to pick up olives, bread, tomatoes and humous. Got back to the flat and listened to a practically complete track written by our new 19 year old guitarist. It's pretty good. It's pretty scary too. Basically my life is a series of being made to shit it by other people. Anyway, made Bruschetta for Pia and Natalia. Then they left and I mooched about a bit. Met up briefly with a guy who is going to mix my bands tracks in future because he's awesome. Some of his own music, akin to the Postal Service here. He took off with a couple of the old new uns. Got picked up by darren and went to a party in Streatham.
Party is Streatham was pretty wack. Every time I go to these parties really annoying, aggressive neanderthal fucks show up. Upon meeting someone, was asked to punch him in the face. I should have taken up the opportunity because I felt like punching them all in the face by the morning. Left the party at 10am. Got outside my flat to see the bins had been arranged in the 'triangle formation' and in a mix of frustrated rage dragged the recycling bin and placed it in the front of the Kebab House door. Sat around all day with my mind racing. 30 in a couple of weeks. Waited for Pia to get home. Shared a Biriyani and went to bed and slept immediatley through The Flavour of Green Tea over Rice.
Current mood: Ethereal with a mix of bursting into tears. Slight excitement. Possible nervous breakdown.
[ 23.02.2009, 08:36: Message edited by: New Way Of Decay ]
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I went out with 'the girls' on Friday. We never ever go out without 'the boys'. It was a fun night and there was much less period/boyfriend chat than I'd feared and anticipated. There was none, in fact. It was much like any other night, to be honest. But that's no bad thing.
quote:Originally posted by New Way Of Decay: ... Current mood: Ethereal with a mix of bursting into tears. Slight excitement. Possible nervous breakdown.
quote:Originally posted by Black Mask: Hey, mart, I've got some spikes I need photographing for a group of colour-blind dungeons&dragons fans, could you help me out?
I don't do weird shit like that. Bunch of fucking freaks.
quote:Originally posted by MiscellaneousFiles: *Lee Colour Filters... interesting results by using two gels - one on each side of the flash, and overlapping a bit in the middle...
That is exactly what I was doing with my Lee filters on these shots, aiming the backdrop flash through a dimpled pint glass.
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I suppose I should start from the beginning. Tell you a litle bit about the situation. I live in a flat above a rather splendid establishment that makes the very best of kebabs. The two staff that jock the place most of the time are lovely, lovely people. When we moved in they complained of water from the bathroom and my landlady advised that it was down to the last tenants overfilling the bath. I was skeptical about this but I had been advised it was only once. One of the staff downstairs stopped me and said he is getting drips coming from the ceiling and that (laughably) perhaps I need to put a towel down because the water from my feet might be soaking through. That is, after I empty the bath and dry myself off (I was already paranoid) that the tiny droplets of moisture from the soles of my feet are soaking through carpet, planks of wood, rockwool and plaster to cause the dripping. Regardless, I called my landlady and passed on the info. She said she'd get someone in.
She didn't get anyone in. So again the staff flag me and invite me to come and look at the damage. the ceiling is caving in. There's water everywhere. I go upstairs. The bathroom is bone dry. I call the landlady and she gets a plumber out in the morning. The pipes in the bathroom are leaking and have been fixed. The problem is solved, but looking back it was a sign of things to come.
You see, there is quite a problem with pressure in the flat. The water pressure rises and drops dramatically, meaning that I have to top it up sometimes to make the water hot in the bathroom. I gave my telephone number to the staff downstairs and requested (actually not for the first time to call me if there's a problem, or better still, call the landlady because although I rent the flat I can't make really fix things without her say so, so if somethings really bad, cut out the middle man.
The next problem is that the toilet cistern had an overflow pipe sticking out of the outside wall which didn't gpo down to the drain, so when the screw that holds the weight in the cistern had moved slowly across the thread over a few months the water (clean water I might add) would flush out. I was stopped in the street by one of the workers, advising me of what happened, i advised them to call my landlady and pushed the screw back to original postion. I called my landlady and told her what happened and to expect a call.
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this is the kind of gritty, real life shit I signed up here for... please, eat that sandwich quick and get back safe NWoD.
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I've got a meeting to attend in 10minutes, I hope he gets back soon, otherwise I've got to go back to International Playing.
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Friday: delish Sri Lankan curry in usual Friday night Sri Lankan curry house. Hoping to blast cold from nostrils with chilli, but just caused major indigestion
Saturday: middle-class day. Read Guardian in morning, then acupuncture session, then drove ancient car to Farrow and Ball shop in Islington. Also bought two games for Wii, plus steering wheels. Stopped off at friends on way home, who don't let their toddler watch ordinary telly. I can only imagine how he'll suffer at the hands of those school boy bullies with Ben 10 lunchboxes. Played Wii game - it was shit. Made delicious risotto, with PRE-GRATED PARMESAN, undoing all middle-class points, then failed to complete Guardian killer sodoku.
Sunday: Read Observer. Went to pregnancy yoga, including 15 minutes 'juice and a chance to share experiences' at the end. Managed not to run away screaming. Spent afternoon applying F&B paint. Looks right nice. Watched My Super Ex Girlfriend and ate kebab. One was utter crap.
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So nothing happens. Time goes by and one night I pass the shop and wave to the staff in there. They wave back. All smiles. Happy days.
At about 11pm Jack and I have demolished some beer and we're winding down for the evening. Then I hear a tocking noise coming from somewhere. Slightly drunk, slightly confused and mostly deaf, I ask Jack if he knows where it's coming from. Outside it turns out as I go and open the bathroom window. The battle of the two Michael's have begun. Apparently our English tongue is incapable of pronouncing his actual delicate name so he goes by the name of Michael. He is outside in the shop garden shouting up at me with such anger that I can't actually undertsand what he's saying, but it's about the overflow pipe which I can see trickling water out. Straight away, I work out what's happened and start apologising. The conversation goes like this:
'right, I see! Sorry, I'm sorry I didn't know, did you speak to my landlady?'
'All this water is coming out of the pipe!'
'Yes, did you call my landlady? Have you spoken to her since this happened last?'
'Look at it. All this water. Everywhere!'
'I see. Have you called my landlady?'
'Look at this, Come down here and look at this'
(I'm started to lose my politeness now. The guy is notoriously surly but I'm trying to be all keeping up appearances)
'Look I can see what's happening. It's the overflow pipe. Obviously it overflows when the water pressure builds up'
'it's going everywhere'
'I can see. But it's the overflow pipe. That's what it does. It lets water out so the pipes don't explode all over your shop. It's 11 0 clock at night. Has this just started happening?'
'It's been like this for 4 days!'
'Well i walked past the shop earlier and waved at the staff. Why didn't somone stop me at 6pm this evening'
'IT'S BEEN LIKE THIS FOR 4 DAYS'
'YES BUT I WALKED PAST. YOUR SHOP. EARLIER. JAY. YOUR STAFF. DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING. WHY DIDN'T YOU GET HIM TO CALL ME. WHY HAVEN'T YOU CALLED MY LANDLADY? I CAN'T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT IF YOU DON'T TELL ME CAN I? IT'S 11 O CLOCK AT NIGHT AND YOUR THROWING THINGS AT MY FLAT'
(I should point out that I did not have a doorbell at this time and the same guy has routinely thrown debris up at our windows instead of, you know ringing the phone or waiting until a normal hour to converse)
'I'LL CALL DAVID!'
'You mean David, the landlady's husband? He's not my fucking Dad. He's not going to tell me off. He's just the person you should have called anyway. If you're going to spout abuse at me then I'm not going to talk to you'
'I'M GOING TO CALL DAVID!'
*muttering* 'Yes, good you do that. that is what you're supposed to do, you fucking menner'
So basically I shut the window, adjust the screw on the cistern and go back indoors. I go into the living room so that I don't have to hear him throwing things at the back windows.
Breaking the otherwise reservd calm is a long car horn being sounded out the front of the house. I look out the window. Michael is sitting in the Kebabwagon. Honking his horn and waving a hand towel. I call my Landlord waking him up and tell him what's going on. I tell him I'm going to call the police and he should probably know what's going on.
The honking continues and in a beer filled rage I go downstairs and fling open the fron door.
'WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? THROWING FUCKING STONES AT MY WINDOW AT FUCKING 11 O'CLOCK AT FUCKING NIGHT AND FUCKING BIBBING YOUR FUCKING HORN AT ME? YOUR STAFF HAVE MY PERSONAL PHONE NUMBER ON WHICH TO CALL ME IN THESE EMERGENCIES AS WELL AS MY LANDLADY'S NUMBER WHO YOU SHOULD CALL ESPECIALLY IN THESE EMERGENCIES.
'They lost your number'
'Right they've ost the number so you're thowing stones? Right, that's not OK, I've given you my number and Jay wrote it down'
'HE LOST HIS PHONE'
'Well that's tough shit isn't it? That's your fucking problem. It does not. Give you the right. To throw stones at my window when I have given you my contact details'
'They're not stones! They're pennies. I'm just throwing pennies'
he starts launching into some retoric about the pipe still so I start fishing though my pockets and hurling handfuls of change at his shop window shouting 'oh so this is Ok then? This is OK?' which then, ho boy busts his irony glands. He starts getting up in my face and trying to sort of push me back in my flat with his chest. I warn him to back off once and he doesn't so I shut the door really quickly, sending him scuffling back into the street and he bangs on my door, but I just leave him to it.
quote:Originally posted by McDirts: this is the kind of gritty, real life shit I signed up here for... please, eat that sandwich quick and get back safe NWoD.
Lol, I did rush back to get back and carry on with the story and as I crossed the road the sandwich fell out of my pocket. A car then ran over it, but did not burst the packet, so I ate it because I don't have anymore money. I hope that's the sort of gritty realism you're after. I'm keeping lunchtime rizzle dizle.
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that's the real shit, right there. Fuck. If I even touched on that level of On The Road type realness in my own desperately dull, suburban existence I would feel like I was really living and wouldn't try to jazz things up by wanking in public.
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obviously I don't wank in public, that was just a joke. I did try it once, as an over enthusiastic teenager, twice actually, but not since I turned 25.
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quote:Originally posted by New Way Of Decay: And that is the story of The Overflow Pipe.
What about the fucking bins?
That's what we call a teaser...
Will the landlady answer her phone? Did the police ever get phoned up? Did Mikey go back to the kebab shop and ask for his change back? And what about the bins anyway? Tune in for the next exciting installment...
-------------------- Give 'em .0139 fathoms and they'll take 80 chains. Posts: 3201
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quote:Originally posted by New Way Of Decay: 'WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? THROWING FUCKING STONES AT MY WINDOW AT FUCKING 11 O'CLOCK AT FUCKING NIGHT AND FUCKING BIBBING YOUR FUCKING HORN AT ME?
quote:Originally posted by froopyscot: That's what we call a teaser...
Will the landlady answer her phone? Did the police ever get phoned up? Did Mikey go back to the kebab shop and ask for his change back? And what about the bins anyway? Tune in for the next exciting installment...
Is he going to start charging in microtransactions for new episodes?
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I feel like I've built it up you see, because you've had the exciting part and the bins aren't as exciting, but require actually actual diagrams to explain the situation to you.
[ 23.02.2009, 11:28: Message edited by: New Way Of Decay ]
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