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» TMO Talk » Sex and Relationships » Everyday things we like. (Page 1)

 
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Author Topic: Everyday things we like.
jonesy999

"Call me Snake"
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Not wanting to mess up Thorn's metal sermon, and just in case anyone wants to comment on the subject, here is stuff about 'sexy' passion.

quote:
Thron
I had a metal blitz last night, which ended in the conclusion that Machine Head's The Blackening might be not just the greatest metal album of all time, but the greatest piece of music written since Shostakovich's 5th Symphony. It's absolutely unbelievable, and even though 2007 has seen the release of career-best albums by two of my favourite bands, only The Blackening has actually brought me close to tears of joy. I've never heard anything like it in popular music - the confidence, the imagination, the sense of purpose. That feeling that every note is in exactly the right place, that the band suddenly had the kind of clear-sighted vision that enabled the great musical works of history. It's absolutely jaw-dropping, like hearing the Ninth symphony for the first time. Incredibly, for an album where most of the songs come it at eight or nine minutes, none of the songs lose their impact for being too long. They come in hard, and then keep metamorphosing, keep sounding fresh, keep sounding absolutely perfect. It's a staggering work; completely breathtaking. I can't recommend it enough. After listening to it all the way through last night I was on a delirious high for hours afterwards. Magnificent.



quote:
Me
I was just thinking about how being truly passionate about something is extremely sexy. But wasn't sure how appropriate it would be to post. But since you're begging.

SEXY POST THORN.



quote:
Misc Files
Almost as sexy as Ringo's posts on the subject of 'drifting'.



quote:
Me
I think Ringo's drifting posts were erotic. I tried to write a couple of things fetishising two stroke motorcycles and fruit machines a few years back, for Benway, when he had a website. Ringo's car stuff is hot porn.

Let's throw this open to the forum laydeez. Is there something sexy about a man who is intensely passionate about a given subject?

If so, does it matter what that subject is?



quote:
Thorn
I don't want praise for me, I want to talk about The Blackening. I want people to think "Ok, maybe there's something in this - he does sound pretty excited, even if he is spitting a bit when he talks", and check out a few tracks. I'm evangelising, man. I want to convert people. I want people who don't ordinarily listen to metal to pick this up and go "Fucking hell, man, that is fucking incredible!" I want to share. It's not about me. I just want to share the love. And right now I feel like I'm trying to push my love into your face and you're turning away in disgust, shoving me away with your hand and saying "Stop trying to push your love into my face Thorn. Zip your love away and just calm down for a bit."



Two Stroke Motorcycles:

quote:

Kids can be so fucking cruel.

“No valves, no cam, just petroil and power.”

Lifted from a poem by my own greasy hand. I was 17, she was an RD200, bored out to take 400 pistons. She was stacked in the pot but I don’t think that slight front disc was up to the job of stopping the load I’d regularly throw at it. Didn’t matter though, we were kids. Alright, I was a kid; she was an old metal bird with a few too many miles on the clock and a little bit of heavy handed surgery in her guts. Those scars were the making of her, though. At least they were to me. When a tree snapped into view and I heaved that lever it wasn’t just the bowels that went slack, oh no. It was in the heart. That tricky disc was a flaw but Christ I loved her for it.

I remember the day our relationship was really forged. A tiny piece of boy cooked in the kiln of twin microns, their mirror-shine chrome stained golden with heat. She baked a nugget of my soul in those pipes and I’d never be the same. Ring tinga tinga ting ting. When it finally comes, when those wiry teenage pins shiver with anticipation and, rightly, fear, you expect something more. Ring tinga tinga ting ting isn’t how the others had described it. A ball bearing rattle in a tiny, tinny shaft. It wasn’t right. Could it be they’d been lying all along? Is it possible I’m out here breaking new ground? Jesus,
maybe it isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. The ringing, the rattles, it’s not comfortable, it’s not smooth. I’m embarrassed. Here I am, a man, doing it (as they claimed they’d done it before me). I’m fucking doing it and…it’s nothing. A tingle. I’m ashamed to open her up but I almost feel obliged. Her chubby tank, the reek of her innards, it’s turning my stomach. Is any of it worth it? I didn’t think I’d ever want to do it again. Halfway through the experience, I really didn’t. This was supposed to be a defining moment in a man’s life; instead, there I was, a frightened, embarrassed boy riding a hideous, terrifying lump. If my friends could see me now… I certainly wanted them to, before the start. At the start they’d have loved me; halfway through...well, halfway through, if my friends could see me then….they’d have crucified me. I could have cried. Perhaps I did, I can’t remember now. All I remember is the moment she took control. I wasn’t in the game anymore, I was a passenger. The moment she starting rocking towards her arc, my role changed completely. What the hell was this? She slipped in and out of the power, ports teeming with delicious liquid, flexing like a flaming muscle before teasingly sucking it back to gas and spitting it outside. “Can you imagine?” She seemed to be saying, “Can you imagine if I push through here?” She teased me alright. Time and again, slipping into the realm of what might be, easing out, dancing on the borders of her power-band like cackling, crackling witch. I wish I could say I checked the needle, I wish I could give those rev fetishists a few figures, statistics, answers, but it’s a blur.

“Don’t imagine!” She whispered and exploded.

The yowl. I tasted it…literally. The burning flavour of petroil. It should have choked me, but I savored the taste. She yowled through her arc as...well, as only a two-stroke can and I felt myself carried around the planet, suspended by a swarm of bees – stinging, stroking, humming, blazing around me and setting me alight with flames of sensation. She shrieked out her redline as if she would burst and it was all I could do to slip a notch down and hold on until next time. Again. The bees were birds now, flocks of gulls yelling at me to hold on, hold on. Another redline, another cog. Fuck me, how long could this go on?

Two more gears is the answer. But not that day. I wasn’t ready. I was spent. She taught me over time, taught me to click through the routine without once slipping from that unique corridor of power, to yowl through five gears, three miles and a grin. Whatever they measure grins in, they can’t measure that one. She’d taken something from me and I thought she’d own it forever. From that moment every kink in her frame, those rough bearings which would tickle me after we’d played; the tell-tale footprint of rubber on her right pipe – a remnant from our one and only disastrous attempt to go two up. Her tricky disc, the droopy hose knotted around her spokes, even that knackered oil pump, each was a facet of this rough diamond and I loved her for every single one of them. Even after the pump gave up, when I had to feed her myself, even then I never stopped loving her. When the surgeon bored through the final razor blade sliver of her aging shaft and proclaimed it dead, I still stuck by her. Even the transplant didn’t alter things. So it was a 200 block. So we couldn’t dig into its walls. So she couldn’t play as hard as she used too. So her look was dated and her days numbered. So what? I’d stick by her forever.

Only I didn’t. Of course I didn’t. I left her to die alone. She let me ride a poem every day but, eventually, it wasn’t enough.



Fruit Machines:
quote:

Let's choose classics. Microchips, double figure jackpots and barking wookies all have their place in the hi-tech, movie-tie-in world of today's gambling arcade, but let's try not to complicate the yes/no gamble, the up/down nudge and the timeless headboard bang of a 'Dumca! Dumca! payout. It's fitting to close my eyes and trust to luck so here goes. JPM's Lite a Nudge - I couldn't have picked a better example if I'd had a time machine and a month to tour the smoky arcades of eighties Briton. She's not the jackpot (the real three melons of the era would of course have been a MkII Nudge Double Up Deluxe) but she's certainly nearby on the payout list.

So let's take a look at her. The bucket's a stainless steel affair, deep enough for more than her two payout tubes could ever hope to hold. Hers was one of the first fannies to boast twin guns - separate clips for rejects and moneyshots. All good so far but her cervix rides too high, a common trait of the time. It might look pretty and bring a slippery-dip style swish to the party around payout time but, like many things of beauty, this magnificent trench is a curse. It won't take long to show you why. I've a pocket full of change and I know these reels like I know my own cock. Let's give it a whirl.

There's a bell there but I'm not holding out for that - I know there are only two on the middle reel after all. Let's spin and see where it gets us. Listen to that: there's something pure about that three drum turn. Someone's weighted those with care and genuine love. Her innards are sculpted from optimism and uncertainty like she swallowed a pioneer - and he's as happy a captive as Reinhardt inside Maximilian. OK, here it comes. It's not a big win, and I don't need to gamble it for the purposes of this demonstration. Let's pop these cherries and see what occurs.

Dumca! dumca!

If we can ignore the scrot-tingling thrill of that payout acoustic and just watch for a moment, we'll witness her flawed fanny in action. There she blows! It's like the race for the egg: quicksilver tadpoles jostling for prime position in the incomprehensible womb of a Nudge a Lite bucket. What a ride they must have: to drop to the echo of 'Dumca! Dumca!', to swarm together before dashing yourself against her smooth sides and slides, only to have the whole thing beamed back in your face by the glorious stainless steel hall of mirrors towering all around you. But just when you're easing in, stretching out and enjoying the glide, Nudge a Lite's bucket nods towards Mother Nature and throws you a curve ball.

I warned you her cervix was too high and here's the evidence. Three cherries is twenty pence payout. Only one of those coins made it. The other cut the air like a silver bullet, finding it's target somewhere nearby when it buried itself in the garish threads of this thirty year old, piss-sodden carpet - where it waits for a teenage fruit rat to sniff it out, brush it down and test its metal against the God of odds. Now a classic wouldn't be a classic without a flaw or two, and we can forgive Nudge a Lite her launch pad bucket, but we couldn't ignore it, so there you go.

Moving upwards, bucket high she carries seven rectangular buttons. From left to right they read 'cancel', three dual purpose 'hold/nudge', a dead button (illuminated but useless - only there to use as a 'feature stop' button on later models), 'gamble' and 'start'. It's a classic layout and everything's where it should be. An accomplished two hander can rattle out most permutations of hold/cancel in no time at all on these pads. The dead button, if sprung, is a useful distraction when excitement gets the better of you - particularly when you don't want to jump in with your nudges before you're certain of the target.

If the dead button is locked off but illuminated you really aren't dealing with the real Mrs. Mcoy. She's a ringer - a cut and shut job, probably a later fruity with no guts and no history. If this is the case, take your coin somewhere else - don't fuck a pig with a wig on, move on - as we do.

Upwards now, she's got an inviting wide screen, well illuminated and leaving nothing to the imagination. The glass sits high and, with transfers kept to a minimum, hers is the perfect window for a spot of peeping. Rest your left cheek gently against the glass. The first thing you'll notice is how warm she is - it's an old fashion window which means it's built to withstand the onslaught of gang after gang of angry fruit rats who just failed to hit a seven then lost the gamble. That means her eyes are built heavy. No one will be breaking through those lids to her soul, no matter how angry they are, no matter how many jackpots she's dangled eleven nudges away.

Nope, this glass was built to last and that means thick. It takes longer to heat up than a modern machine but once that screen takes on the heat, it's a regular glass Aga. Feel it in your face for a few minutes and listen to the satisfied hum from inside. If you want to hear the clear ring of craftsmanship, treat yourself to a single credit and eavesdrop on the cool contended purr of her triple drum turn. But that's not why we're here. Carry on like this and we'll be the peeper who fell asleep with his dick glued to belly with woo-hoo glue. That's spunk.

No, we're here to expose the design flaws in this classic peep-show. Stay cheek to cheek with that warm window and adjust your eyes left. First thing you'll see are two tubes - they're both payout. If the time and temperature is right, those tubes will be brim full with silver fish desperate to line that bucket with overkill - jewels on silver walls. If that's the case, it's play time, load her up; half full and, though you'll have your fun, you're ultimately destined to remain unfulfilled; if all you can see are twin towers of hollow plastic, put it back in your pocket, the only person whose gonna get fucked is you. And believe me, she'll bleed you dry as an umbrella shaped bone in the midday desert.

But that's not all we're peeping at. These old three drums are forged out of white plastic but age and nicotine soon wear that to grey. The fruit is all transfer but sits against a white border. These sticky delights are made of hardier stuff than the discoloured reels. They'll show up like a fart in a perfumery against those grey tumblers. Take a look through the back of her reels and every fruit for twenty nudges winks like a lighthouse steering gamblers safely home. When the nudges come rolling in, hit a Five and double up or time the Ten and it's plain sailing through silver seas every time. But mind those payout tubes - if they're empty, no peeping in the world is going to keep you afloat.

So, there's a quick lesson in how to make a virtue of a flaw in a classic machine. There are other ways to cheat yourself one step closer to Nudge a Light's triple melon G spot but I'm not here to teach you foreplay, and besides, there's nothing more fulfilling than learning through practice just what lights a fruity up. I could lay the whole karma sutra of sneaky routines on you but then you wouldn't delight in learning what makes her tick.

Now, let's continue on our journey around this beautiful old machine. Leaving her insides behind, we return to that wide comforting face. It's not so broad as to be frightening, like, say, a Bexter, it's a spacious, welcoming view. No need to squint at her cherry to deduce the price, but you can read her well enough. Up and to the right of this homely visage is what sets Nudge a Light and her sister, Double Deluxe apart from other machines of the era - a random nudge generator. As we all know, Double Deluxe spat out nudges with an ugly, unforgiving shaft and the recurring motif of a wickedly barbed arrow. It didn't surprise you when that one fucked you over. Nudge a Light, on the other hand, exchanges such phallic imagery for the warm, welcoming circle of a red nudge dial and low sprung, thumb sized, crimson button. Keep an ear open for the two bars of electronic melody which herald the arrival of nudges and then put your finger to work teasing out a big digit from her bank of nudges. It's a genuinely random hit but those clever fellows at JPM have arranged an increase in speed depending on how empty her tubes are. So ride your luck - just hit it.

A session on this baby offers many pleasures but that bright red nudge circle is probably my favourite. A couple of hours teasing tens from that orb and I guarantee you'll see its image imprinted on your eyelids when you sleep at night. Beautiful.

OK, let's talk slots. Her bucket may be canyon wide but her twin slots (tens and tokens) are as tight as a mouse's ear drum. Despite this, entering her is invariably smooth. Every so often she'll stubbornly kick out a couple of badly weighted coins back to the bucket but there's just enough room to spin them back in and con her into swallowing them whole. Both slots are illuminated (although on the museum machine we tested, the bulb in the token slot was inexcusably dead. But I digress). The token taker is a typical pre-nineties JPM slot - angular and inhospitable to those trying to fill her backwards. However, I've always thought there was something striking about the clinical lines of those bent bastards. Stroke your thumb along their grooves and it's impossible not to generate a little moisture. My heart never fails to race as I slip a slick token into that stubborn little slot. To paraphrase the soulful words of Omar, there's nothing like it.

Well that about wraps up the physical tour of this ageing beauty, leaving me just one more aspect to address.

She's got spirit. I played an early nineties Cops 'n' Robbers last week, one with a three pound moneybag, and, whilst it's a great machine, it lacks the soul of something like Nudge a Light. These are classic machines whose every click, every flash is a poem. Sure they're flawed, of course they're heavy, clunking old dames whose spin cycle is enough to make even the most modest microchip marvel blush and shut down, but they were the pioneers, the risk takers, the real gamblers. I urge you to seek out these blue blooded wonders and just ride and ride them. You won't be disappointed. Quite simply, they don't make them like they used to.



Sorry, I just wanted to make a rilly, rilly long first post, not imply that I am sexy passion. Not least because I haven't really given a flying fuck about fruit machines or two strokes for, like, fifteen years or more.

Can people's passion for a non sexy subject be sexy real? I seem to remember Kovacs getting quite excited by the unique language ladies use to describe fashion and the genuine love they lavish on the subject – getting his trousers in a boner over 'kitten heels' and 'budgie smugglers'. Could train spotting ever be sexy if it was described with genuine passion by a true believer? Could Harley's punk love ever get your sex pistol firing off a sexual salute?

[ 26.04.2007, 08:12: Message edited by: jonesy999 ]

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Nathan Bleak
It's all grist to the mill
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I read that fruit machine post way back in the day, when it was on Benway's site, and still think about it as an incredibly smart piece - just that elevating of a mundane and seedy object to - I suppose - fetishistic levels of adoration, but also the appreciation of its own artistry. Not sure if I found it sexy for its enthusiasm, though, except that it was witty and clever, which is attractive.

People who are dreary and passionless and all "God it's all so shit" really aren't attractive at all, so at least on that level being passionate about stuff is pretty exciting in a person. Actually, now I think about it, I never really care what someone is enthusiastic about - and actually the nerdier and more off the wall their passion is the better - it's like the more shameful it is, the more likely it's a genuine burning interest rather than just a faddish bandwagon thing.

Nonetheless, I can't get away from the way women always seem dismissive when blokes get excited about stuff - there's always that 'silly boys' rolling eyes thing, which kind of suggest a preference for composed detatchment rather than bug-eyed enthusiasm. I mean - you couldn't imagine many girls getting wet over Daniel Craig's James Bond if he suddenly went into an arms flailing, spittle flecked eulogy about how Glocks were just absolutely brilliant and... and although he loved the PPK there was something about the Glock that was just drools!!! It just doesn't work. I think women feel threatened if a man seems like he likes anything more than them, because women are inherently selfish and evil.

--------------------
Now that you've called me by name?

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jonesy999

"Call me Snake"
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Maybe that's it. I remember as a teenager being told by a girl that my passion for a subject (I can't remember what it was, probably getting in other teenager's pants) was attractive and exciting. But the chances are she was a) lying because I was boring her but she didn't want to hurt my feelings b) was impressed with a passion that she now expected me to transfer over to worshiping her. I can't remember her name now, so I guess that failed.

[ 26.04.2007, 06:12: Message edited by: jonesy999 ]

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dang65
it's all the rage
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It's true that women aren't interested in anything. There was a programme my old lady was watching the other day about a fashion magazine. They had something like 250 pages to fill and they were just staring blankly and trying to think of something. Eventually one of them said, "Top 10 Accessories? Something like that?"

I was thinking, come on, why not give us a ten page history of the bra, with diagrams and illustrations, maybe interviews with people who invented famous bras, a bit of information about new developments in bra technology, a sidebar showing bra disasters, top bra-related movies, funny slang names for bras (hurrah for over-the-shoulder boulder holder)... I mean, ten pages frankly wouldn't even touch on the subject. What's wrong with these people?

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jonesy999

"Call me Snake"
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This thread badly needs some women, doesn't it? How do we do that guys?
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dang65
it's all the rage
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Top 10 Accessories? Something like that?
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jonesy999

"Call me Snake"
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Lol.

Out of interest, what are the top ten accessories?

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MiscellaneousFiles

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A handbag ?

[ 26.04.2007, 06:19: Message edited by: MiscellaneousFiles ]

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jonesy999

"Call me Snake"
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Good start. So Dang. If someone spoke with real passion about handbags for ten minutes, would you find that sexy?

[ 26.04.2007, 06:26: Message edited by: jonesy999 ]

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Jimmy Big Nuts
CounterCulture Vex'
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I try not to get too excited about things. I do get obsessional sometimes, usually about some kind of artist, or go through phases of wanting to try things out, but I try and keep a lid on it all because I usually feel that really, people don't actually care what I like or don't like. Just because I like it, doesn't make it good, and if I do get drunk and then enthuse about something I tend to feel a bit cringey about it the next day. Sometimes I've done it on tmo, get all excited, and then if I read it back once the fire has cooled it's pretty embarrasing. Self indulgent maybe. I think the worst times for me getting all excited is when think I've had some dazzling idea for a short film or something, and then try and reproduce it shot for shot just by describing it to some unlucky drinking pal.

[ 26.04.2007, 06:31: Message edited by: Jimmy Big Nuts ]

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dang65
it's all the rage
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Not sure I'd think of it as sexy, but I could certainly listen with interest and enjoy their passion, yes. Mind you, you're talking to a man that's been to two separate rope museums. (Three if you include the Reeperbahn.)
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herbs

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Hello - can I help? I think it was in fact top 10 beauty buys, and they had to find a feature to fill 10 pages at the last minute. And they didn't have a bra-history extragavanza to hand.

As for passions, I think if you fancy the bloke to start with, them demostrating a passion just stokes the fires of the loins. You think 'ooh, he's so deep and if he can talk for hours about teapots, imagine how long he'd spend drinking from the furry cup'. If you don't fancy him, him going on about tracker mortgages makes the skin crawl. 'ooh he's so tedious, and if he's boring me that much now, imagine how long he'd bang away for'.

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Vogon Poetess

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I think it's perhaps endearing rather than "sexy" that a man has a little hobby. The way their faces light up when a new Amazon package arrives, or their happy little gurgles when "their" programme is on telly.

[ 26.04.2007, 06:30: Message edited by: Vogon Poetess ]

--------------------
What I object to is the colour of some of these wheelie bins and where they are left, in some areas outside all week in the front garden.

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Nathan Bleak
It's all grist to the mill
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A year or so ago I collapsed in the hall after a TMO meat and declared "Dr Benway is the greatest man in the history of the world," and then passed out. As of now I take that back. I can't abide a person who's ashamed of their passions.

--------------------
Now that you've called me by name?

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jonesy999

"Call me Snake"
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quote:
Originally posted by Jimmy Big Nuts:
I try not to get too excited about things.


quote:

...once the fire has cooled it's pretty embarrasing. Self indulgent maybe.

I feel a bit like that. I also feel like that with writing. Once you've had a few knock backs, getting passionate about the next thing you write almost seems like tempting fate. And it hurts far more when your passion for something is smashed with a fucking big hammer than if you can convince yourself that you were never really that enthusiastic about it anyway. Problem being, that's suicide because it will certainly come out in what one writes - and no one wants to read a half-hearted, half arsed load of fearword. So one has to fight that instinct.

Having said that, if someone else writes with mouth frothing enthusiasm about something I don't think, "Man, the next day you're going to be pretty embarrassed about that self indulgence, my friend."

I think, "That’s great that is."

So maybe it's only the paranoia and self-loathing that makes us ashamed of letting go with sticky abandon.

[ 26.04.2007, 08:31: Message edited by: jonesy999 ]

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dang65
it's all the rage
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quote:
Originally posted by herbs:
As for passions, I think if you fancy the bloke to start with, them demostrating a passion just stokes the fires of the loins.

I'm sure you'd get a lot of pleasure if I was boring you, Herbs.

Know what I mean? * wink *

Ooh, no hang on. Think about rope museums, think about rope museums.

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Jimmy Big Nuts
CounterCulture Vex'
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That's a shame, Nathan. If it helps, I'm not ashamed of my passions, but ashamed about banging on to somebody about them, or trying to impose them on other people. By the way I grew up with a dad who pretty much obsessed about something the whole time - trains, stamps and birds mostly, and to this day he only really talks about birds and rugby to me, even though he knows I've got no interest in them. Our holidays always revolved around his passions, he would try and get everybody into them, and they often seemed like his primary focus. It still frustrates me, and I don't want to be like that, I don't want to try and shape the environment to reflect myself. So, while I wouldn't deny that of course passions are exciting, I often try and keep them locked down to prevent the kind of blindness (self aware or otherwise) that they produce.
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jonesy999

"Call me Snake"
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quote:
Benway
I've had some dazzling idea for a short film or something, and then try and reproduce it shot for shot just by describing it to some unlucky drinking pal.



Yes but I've been that drinking pal and I wouldn't consider myself to be unlucky.

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Ringo

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quote:
Originally posted by Jimmy Big Nuts:
That's a shame, Nathan. If it helps, I'm not ashamed of my passions, but ashamed about banging on to somebody about them, or trying to impose them on other people.

Yeah, I'm like that. I try my best to avoid talking about cars or driving on here, because I think I'll just bore everyone. Same with snooker, I'm absolutely snooker mad, but I try not to ever mention it because I think I'll just come across as some desperately boring loser who only ever talks about one thing.

Only on here though. Because no matter how much passion you have for a subject, it's almost impossible to keep talking for years on end about it without boring the very eyes from your readers' heads.

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Jimmy Big Nuts
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oh my god ringo could you shut up about your precious fucking snooker. NOBODY CARES. Jesus fucking christ, man.
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Abby
Slave Girl of Gor
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Housemate A has just caught Housemate B dancing around in his pants singing his IM GONNA READ PHILOSOPY IN THE BATH...OH YEAH!!! song.

I dunno if that was very sexy, but he really likes philosophy...

[ 26.04.2007, 06:53: Message edited by: Abby ]

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Jimmy Big Nuts
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whacky.
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Nathan Bleak
It's all grist to the mill
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quote:
Originally posted by jonesy999:

Yes but I've been that drinking pal and I wouldn't consider myself to be unlucky.

I've had that with Benway on occasion and never felt unlucky. I quite like sitting with people and listening to them rave about something. Actually I really like it. It's interesting that while benway feels awkward about sharing his enthusiasm with people, he ndoesn't feel it's as much as an imposition to write about grey drudgery, or sick-making hangovers, both of which he's written quite a few words on over the last five years. I don't quite get that, why he feels that someone would be unlucky to hear him getting enthused by something, but conversely he feels they would - I suppose - be lucky to read a post by him about being sick into the bin under his desk.

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Jimmy Big Nuts
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sorry about that. I think I've toned down all the hangover stuff now. For instance - I didn't mention the one I had yesterday, and I wasn't going to mention the one I've got today. [Wink]

anyway, I didn't come here to unload the rucksack of infinite burden onto a thread about passion. Let's get excited!

[ 26.04.2007, 07:06: Message edited by: Jimmy Big Nuts ]

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Benny the Ball
"oh, hold me"
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I love Ancient History - particularly the Roman Empire in the 2nd-4th century AD. I have never felt comfortable enough to share this with anyone else.

I also find myself really enjoying reading about Economics at the moment...

My old passions (comics, x-files, star trek, star wars, sci-fi, horror) I felt a bit too geeky to even dream of making it passionate - I remember saying to someone in almost exited tones "I just saw the new star wars trailer" to which he replied "so." in such a tone that I thought - shit, did I just sound like an excited fat comic book store prick...

But let me tell you about the Roman's......

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jonesy999

"Call me Snake"
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Had Stefanos already left the forum when you joined Benny?
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Jimmy Big Nuts
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Every time I see recreated battle scenes on TV now I look out for Stefanos. That guy had passion alright.
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Waynster

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It's funny but I was thinking about this just yesterday afternoon. I get very passionate about the things I love, and to be quite honest, I think sometimes that puts people off of whatever I am praising. You've already seen me spouting joyous tripe in Music about the new Wildhearts album - yesterday I was working from the Amsterdam office and a couple of the guys asked me what I was listening to on the iPod - I explained that it was probably the most anticipated CD of mine for several months, how marvellous it was - album of the year and so on - me just having my 5 minutes.

One of the guys said they should check it out, but I simply replied 'you would not like it - no one else does'. I remembered how when the last album of theirs came out, taking it to the pub (a metallers pub), going on how about how terrific it was, them putting the CD on and then just carried on talking, not giving a blind bit of notice to the music that I had just raved about. I guess they must have just played it to shut me up.

The thing is, I can't stand people with no passion. Hell it doesn't matter what it is (with the exceptions of maybe religion and their offspring) I can listen to people wax-lyrical about just about anything,but as long as they have got that sparkle in their eye and talk with such enthusiasm. I have a mate who can (and does) analyse most of John Bonham's drum solo's, tell you the most inane facts about it, but you can't tell him to shut up as that is what he loves.

But stick me with someone who uses 'meh' as every other word, and I want to get a spoon, remove their passionless heart and feed it to them, just to install a bit of feeling, albeit fear, with their final breaths, just to give them a clue.

[ 26.04.2007, 07:09: Message edited by: Waynster ]

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Noli nothis permittere te terere

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Benny the Ball
"oh, hold me"
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quote:
Originally posted by jonesy999:
Had Stefanos already left the forum when you joined Benny?

I think he may have. Was he a Rome nut too?

I think 2 factors come into play with the idea of passion expression for me; 1) crippling shyness from lack of oratory skills. I can't talk for shit, and used to physically find myself unable to talk in new company (dry throat, empty head) - which probably comes from 2) grand inadequacy born from having so many holes in my knowledge that I feel like any opinion could be torn apart upon discussion.

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jonesy999

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Yeah, Stefanos was a regular Roman Geek: wore the sandals, had the sword, extra in Gladiator and stuff.

His passion for the subject was admirable. OK, so it go so he couldn't post anything without being accused of being a Roman bumsexer but at least he put his Romanizing out there, instead of hiding it away like a dirty secret.

[ 26.04.2007, 07:15: Message edited by: jonesy999 ]

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Waynster

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quote:
Originally posted by Benny the Ball:
I think he may have. Was he a Rome nut too?

So much so he gave it all up to be a Roman

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Noli nothis permittere te terere

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jonesy999

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EDIT: Wayne beat me to it.

[ 26.04.2007, 07:17: Message edited by: jonesy999 ]

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Benny the Ball
"oh, hold me"
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The absolute collapse of the Empire stands as such a template to how aggressive expansionism leads to peaks of empire and collapses thereafter, it's still relevent today.

Or something [Embarrassed]

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If Chuck Norris is late, time better slow the fuck down

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Waynster

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Come to think of it, the people on here on the whole are pretty passionate sorts - with Benny disclosing his love of the Romans, you've got wonderstarr and his/her comics, Benway and his horror films, Veep and her horseys, Thorn and his porn, Ringo and his motors - even Snorts and his Nazi's - questionable, but you cannot question his passion for it.

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Ringo

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I'm passionate about quite a lot of things, it's not just cars. Snooker, for instance. And Milton Keynes. I love films, and computer games. Motorsports, especially formula 1. I get really into the Olympics when they're on.

Hey, I'm a pretty passionate guy [Smile]

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