Friday, November 14, 2008

I was looking for music but instead i found love

Lovers Lane advert for "chcito"

Really. I wanted to find some hippy folk music while I finished this job application and and thought the Austin Chronicle would be perfect to hit up.

As I headed for the music section, I saw this little cute Mexican man under Lovers Lane called Chcito. He left out the i in his name, maybe on purpose, but probably by accident.

I couldn't resist looking at his profile - it's a picture of him, standing in front of fake baseball backdrop. He probably got this picture taken at a sports bar liked Hooters.

I admire his honesty and he shouldn't put up with people "who drink too much and and drunk" because that's pretty no-go for conversation. Like talking to a broken record. A bad broken record at that. I'm probably like that, or worse. Far worse. Only I don't repeat myself, I just say stupid things that I should just write instead of say. 

He reminds me of my grandfather, even though my grandfather looks nothing like him and is most definitely certainly not gay. I hope he finds love. 

Here's his profile: 

honest and loving

i am honest and loving looking for the same,i will take care of you and will be ready for you as i am a bottom looking for top i am clean ddf i love to be made love to kiss and suck my tit .i will kiss you all over and make you happy i have mine own place

Fill It I consider myself an open-minded person, but my deal breakers are drink to much and and drunk Design your ideal mate: the brain of loving and the body of nice Something I said I'd never do but did anyway was like man The first section I turn to in the Chronicle is 124933 The quickest way to my heart is kissing The quickest way to my bed is more kising And in the morning, I like my eggs cooked cook It's Sunday morning at 10 a.m. If I'm not still sleeping, I'm making love When I die, I believe I will go hell I wouldn't be who I am if were not honest

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Tuesday, November 11, 2008

It's Party Time!

I don't think this photo needs an explanation.

I found it when I was going through my friend's stuff, which I'm keeping til she comes back to Brighton, and I couldn't resist pulling it out for a quick scan. 

It looks like a church in Virgina. I bet they throw some good parties. 

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Monday, November 03, 2008

From Grey to Black in 20 minutes

Somewhere Else, The Rising and Setting of the Sun, 2003, painting by Christopher Stevens, photo from art.net

I wanted to find a photograph that was darker than the previous rain-streaked window from Saturday's post, but instead, my mind on art and the need for more art, I came across my friend Chris's painting - and it seemed apt. 

There was no sun today, clouds like an afterthought after cloudy cups of tea and blowing cobwebs from the bag of compost that lives underneath our kitchen sink. Grey swirls of mist, now turned pitch black. 

This morning I went out to buy some cough medicine and get the rest of the rent money out.

I saw my friend, the wrinkled old guy who's probably not older than 40, sitting on the pavement next to the cashpoint, wearing a a straw hat, brown leather jacket and jeans and strumming his guitar. He gave me a thumbs up and a toothy grin when I said good morning.

"I hardly made anything yesterday," he informed me and I frowned. Yesterday had been a good day, bright blue sky held taut like a sheet by the confidence of an easy-going Sunday. But the shifting seasons, 3pm felt like 7pmp; another later and it was night. 

Shuffling around in my wallet, I only expected to find 2ps. I scooped out 80p and handed it to him. Then I remembered my extraordinary luck - the third time to find money on the street - so I dug out another pound (what I'd found) and gave it to him as well. I remembered that's what I'd decided to do when I'd found it. 

"Check the street for money," I told him. "Especially at night when the pubs kick out."

"Thanks for the tip," my friend said, assuring me he'd give it a go, although I can't imagine it's hardly a new thing for him. 

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Saturday, November 01, 2008

I'm not sure today has actually started

I'm about to do some writing, for the first time in - hang on, let me check the date - okay, this is bad. I've stopped writing done the date when I write in my notebook. So the last date I have recorded is 17th October. There's a few pages after that one so it's been awhile even for me to scrawl my dream in a half conscious state.

I woke up at 10 something am and it was grey outside my window. I started reading a new story in the Akashic Las Vegas Noir collection in bed. I love reading in bed.

When I was a kid, I used to invent new ways of going in late to school so that I could read for a few more hours.

Collections of coffee mugs with moldy remains of orange juice gathered like rats beneath my bed. Stacks of book tripped me up when I got up to go to the bathroom.

I used to be scared of the things beneath my bed when I was very young, and now I live with the unthinkable: my futon rests on the floor. Now I lie awake with irrational fears residing somewhere else.

Unlike most people in England, I don't complain about the cold wet weather that comes in like a bitter brew in the autumn. Maybe it's because I didn't have to grow up in it. The streaks of light that come in aren't inspiring, but unless you have to work outdoors, I don't see how it can really matter (unless you have holes in your shoes and then that's a real pain).

After getting a few pages in, I decided I needed a cup of tea, and as soon as I'm up to switch the kettle on, that's it. I'm up.

Mikey's still away in Reading so I have the house to myself. I made a simple breakfast - fried tomato with coriander and basil, eggs, bacon, hashbrowns leftover from last night's dinner, and coffee. I washed up all of the dishes, laughing along to Mark Steel on the radio, tidied all of the random bits of post and cds and dj set lists and stuff that just seems to accumulate on the end of the counter like some built up city.

The rain is crackling and pinging while I download Opera. I have to agree with Mark - it's a lot better than Flock. A browser for different moods.

The writer's group email discussion about Brand and Ross rages on and I check for updates.

Talk has branched out considerably, after a long debate over which aspect of the furor people thought was worth complaining about. 

Derek: "Yes, the power of the people has made the Xmas TV schedule marginally more palatable." Ed: "Let's face it, Derek, what you are really saying is that you love Hitler LOL" Steve: "Surely the real victims here are the Spanish? ¡¡¡Maldígale para su Sachs de estereotipia viciosa!!!" Tara: "I once saw Jonathan Ross on This Is Your Life, the most brilliant piece of TV. It was so obvious that everyone on it hated him, you could have cut the atmophere with a knife. Vic and Bob arrived half an hour late and blind drunk, great stuff. I bet there's a lot of happy people in Soho today..."

Me: "I can't believe no one has mentioned the fact that they are totally coked up.........."

Convo has since moved onto: Amy Winehouse, celebrity culture, fear and anxiety, the Daily Mail, the unconscious mind, and opportunism.

Okay - off to write. I'm making the most of being indoors. Later I'm being turned into a zombie, but I'll be able to keep my pajamas on for that one. 

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