This is a fairly mundane story:
Today, I went to visit one of my friends who is very sick. I brought her some flowers, and my copies of "I Capture the Castle" and "Stardust" to read.
As I left and embarked on the mile walk back to my house, it was early evening but the sun was still out. I watched people walking by the river in their t-shirts and sunglasses, and thought about how entertaining it is how we react to a little bit of summer here in England.
I made a point to smile at everybody I came across. This is a game I play with myself sometimes, or I guess you could call it more of a research project, because people's responses often depend hugely on the weather or the place, but sometimes age groups. A girl, aged about five, waved at me. An old man reading a newspaper on a bench grinned back. But a woman in her thirties made a point of looking at the ground. I don't know if she was being stereotypical because I'm a teenager, although I don't look very threatening, or if people just don't like eye contact with strangers.
I passed Arthur's Grave: a monument dedicated to Arthur Brown, an American pilot in WWII who crashed his plane to save our town. It is always covered in flowers. When I used to go running by the river with my dad, in the winter months in thick hoodies and hats, he set the rule that without fail we always had to shout, "Hi Arthur!" as we passed the grave. Even when I'm walking past it on my own, I still whisper it under my breath.
Outside somebody's house on the main road there was a table with tall, blooming raspberry plants on it, in buckets of water, an honesty box and a sign. I put some money in the box and took one for my mum, not thinking about how heavy it would be or how long I had to walk. I must have looked kind of hilarious struggling to carry a giant raspberry plant for half a mile.
As I walked home I saw a girl stood on the patio in front of her house across the street from where I walked. She was maybe six or seven, though I'm bad at guessing ages, wearing a long and bright pink coloured dress and dancing in the carefree way that you do when you're a child. It wasn't until the few seconds break on the Bon Iver record I was listening to, between "Flume" and"Lump Sun" that I realised she was loudly singing S Club 7's "Reach For The Stars" as she danced, whilst gazing up to the sky and wearing a very concentrated expression. I wondered when it becomes normal to stop doing that, and when it's better to look down out of awkwardness when a stranger smiles at you.
No conclusion, no revelation or shocking twists. I just think people's habits are really interesting sometimes, especially on an English summer's day.
Showing posts with label people. Show all posts
Showing posts with label people. Show all posts
Saturday, 26 May 2012
Sunday, 10 October 2010
Hocus Pocus
Ôi orôrôi rôrôrôi rôrôrôi rôrôrôi rôrôrôi ohrorô poPÔYôi orôrôi rôrôrôi rôrôrôi rôrôrôi rôrôrôi ohrorô,
BoumPÔ,
Aaaah aaah aaah aaahUuuh oooh oooh ooooooooh
"Hocus Pocus" - Focus
Yes, yes I did just google those lyrics, and copy and paste them, because I feel like I should always use song lyrics at the top of my blog entries nowadays.
I also saw someone on songmeanings.net comment on the meaning of the song.
They said; "I think this song holds the secret as to the real meaning of life. "
Last Tuesday morning, my dad came into my room and told me that the night before that he'd been to a Focus show in Wolverhampton, the night before. After the show, Thijs van Leer, the lead singer, had been walking round the small club the gig was held at afterwards.
I've known some of Focus' music since I was very young: I have a distinct memory of being in my dad's car at around eight years old, listening to the song Hocus Pocus. There's a part where the frontman introduces all of the band, they're Dutch and I misheard all of their names. "On the bass guitar, Bobby Chelcoms... And on the drums, Betchy Smark. Peter Yann-Doo-May." But
I never misheard, "On organ, and flute, Thijs van Leer".
I imagined this flute playing, yodelling organ-ist (That's a word?) to look like a wizard.
I hadn't thought about them for a long time until Tuesday when my dad told me the story; he'd met Thijs van Leer, now frail and old, about sheet music for Le Cathedral de Strausberg. And he'd said that he had it in his hotel room, and my dad went back with him and talked about Jan Akkerman and music and my dad seemed fairly mind-blown. He gave him his personal email address and he'd said he'd remember him, because his name was Robin, also the name of the club he'd performed at. I get excited over small claims to fame, yes.
On Thursday, we went to their gig in Manchester, with my dad's friend he'd seen them with on the Monday. I haven't seen Stuart or his daughter Nicole for a long time, but we went skiing with them when I was about nine. Since then, Stuart split up with his wife. His current girlfriend, Rachel, came with us too.
We were mostly silent in the car. It's always strange when you see someone you were really close too as a kid. I recently saw my parents' friends' son for the first time in a long time, and he is eighteen now and going to university. I spent an entire night with when I was eight thinking he was awesome because he introduced me to Runescape, and typed "penis" into Google Images.
Nicole is two years younger than me, and I think we were pretty good friends when we went skiing. I don't remember much about her, so I don't know if she's changed a lot except that she was Older. She wore hoop earrings and looked bored, was constantly texting and wore a pouty bored expression. One of the things that made me laugh a lot was listening to her talking to her dad about walking home from school and having to go through an alley which, she declared in a matter-of-fact tone, "I can't go through, because it's haunted."
I could go on to further describe all of the other people there, but I won't because it isn't going to matter.
The support act were pretty good. Band On The Wall is a small club, and we went into the basement and met two of my dad's friends from high school. He hadn't seem them for twenty years until a week ago, and they seemed oddly comfortable around each other and I'm not sure how I feel about that, or how I'd feel if I met my friends from school after twenty years apart. I was amazed because they were a whole new breed of person I haven't come across before in the real world: the kind that go to gigs all of the time, one of them had seen Sting three times a week recently. And knew who Imogen Heap was.
The stereotypical audience member was a man, 45-ish, slightly long hair and a baggy black t-shirt. Perhaps he was alone.
Thijs van Leer came on stage, stood aside and the rest of the band led on.
He looked like a wizard.
I liked the concert a lot more than I thought; I was skeptical and maybe thought I couldn't enjoy music as much simply because it was instrumental, I was very wrong. They played the song my dad requested: Le Cathedral de Strausberg and it was pretty and sounded like bells. Another highlight was Focus III (I think) was the first song they played, I didn't know it but it was brilliant, and my favourites were the ones I knew, Sylvia and Hocus Pocus. Thijs van Leer held his arms wide open and the audience sang.
"Yodeadodoyodeadodoyodeadodoyodeadodoyodeadodoyodeadodoyo-bab-baaaaa
Ahhhhhh-aaahhhh-aaaaaa-aaaaAAA!Ohhhhhh-ooohhh-oooooo-oooOOO!"
does not seem to describe the beauty and epicness of it, but there is sometimes no way to write music down.
Pocus was the last song they did and afterwards, we hung out at the merch table. My dad bought a shirt and we met all of the band and it was surreal because I wasn't ready to translate what I'd seen on the stage to actual human beings yet. Maybe instead, they were some of the first famous people, if you can call them that, people I've met and I was surprised at how human everyone was acting.
On the way home there was a bit of a fight with Stuart and his girlfriend, because he wanted to stop for kebabs and he was tired, and I went home and ate a slice of bread and it tasted like the best food in the world.
Lizzie
BoumPÔ,
Aaaah aaah aaah aaahUuuh oooh oooh ooooooooh
"Hocus Pocus" - Focus
Yes, yes I did just google those lyrics, and copy and paste them, because I feel like I should always use song lyrics at the top of my blog entries nowadays.
I also saw someone on songmeanings.net comment on the meaning of the song.
They said; "I think this song holds the secret as to the real meaning of life. "
Last Tuesday morning, my dad came into my room and told me that the night before that he'd been to a Focus show in Wolverhampton, the night before. After the show, Thijs van Leer, the lead singer, had been walking round the small club the gig was held at afterwards.
I've known some of Focus' music since I was very young: I have a distinct memory of being in my dad's car at around eight years old, listening to the song Hocus Pocus. There's a part where the frontman introduces all of the band, they're Dutch and I misheard all of their names. "On the bass guitar, Bobby Chelcoms... And on the drums, Betchy Smark. Peter Yann-Doo-May." But
I never misheard, "On organ, and flute, Thijs van Leer".
I imagined this flute playing, yodelling organ-ist (That's a word?) to look like a wizard.
I hadn't thought about them for a long time until Tuesday when my dad told me the story; he'd met Thijs van Leer, now frail and old, about sheet music for Le Cathedral de Strausberg. And he'd said that he had it in his hotel room, and my dad went back with him and talked about Jan Akkerman and music and my dad seemed fairly mind-blown. He gave him his personal email address and he'd said he'd remember him, because his name was Robin, also the name of the club he'd performed at. I get excited over small claims to fame, yes.
On Thursday, we went to their gig in Manchester, with my dad's friend he'd seen them with on the Monday. I haven't seen Stuart or his daughter Nicole for a long time, but we went skiing with them when I was about nine. Since then, Stuart split up with his wife. His current girlfriend, Rachel, came with us too.
We were mostly silent in the car. It's always strange when you see someone you were really close too as a kid. I recently saw my parents' friends' son for the first time in a long time, and he is eighteen now and going to university. I spent an entire night with when I was eight thinking he was awesome because he introduced me to Runescape, and typed "penis" into Google Images.
Nicole is two years younger than me, and I think we were pretty good friends when we went skiing. I don't remember much about her, so I don't know if she's changed a lot except that she was Older. She wore hoop earrings and looked bored, was constantly texting and wore a pouty bored expression. One of the things that made me laugh a lot was listening to her talking to her dad about walking home from school and having to go through an alley which, she declared in a matter-of-fact tone, "I can't go through, because it's haunted."
I could go on to further describe all of the other people there, but I won't because it isn't going to matter.
The support act were pretty good. Band On The Wall is a small club, and we went into the basement and met two of my dad's friends from high school. He hadn't seem them for twenty years until a week ago, and they seemed oddly comfortable around each other and I'm not sure how I feel about that, or how I'd feel if I met my friends from school after twenty years apart. I was amazed because they were a whole new breed of person I haven't come across before in the real world: the kind that go to gigs all of the time, one of them had seen Sting three times a week recently. And knew who Imogen Heap was.
The stereotypical audience member was a man, 45-ish, slightly long hair and a baggy black t-shirt. Perhaps he was alone.
Thijs van Leer came on stage, stood aside and the rest of the band led on.
He looked like a wizard.
I liked the concert a lot more than I thought; I was skeptical and maybe thought I couldn't enjoy music as much simply because it was instrumental, I was very wrong. They played the song my dad requested: Le Cathedral de Strausberg and it was pretty and sounded like bells. Another highlight was Focus III (I think) was the first song they played, I didn't know it but it was brilliant, and my favourites were the ones I knew, Sylvia and Hocus Pocus. Thijs van Leer held his arms wide open and the audience sang.
"Yodeadodoyodeadodoyodeadodoyodeadodoyodeadodoyodeadodoyo-bab-baaaaa
Ahhhhhh-aaahhhh-aaaaaa-aaaaAAA!Ohhhhhh-ooohhh-oooooo-oooOOO!"
does not seem to describe the beauty and epicness of it, but there is sometimes no way to write music down.
Pocus was the last song they did and afterwards, we hung out at the merch table. My dad bought a shirt and we met all of the band and it was surreal because I wasn't ready to translate what I'd seen on the stage to actual human beings yet. Maybe instead, they were some of the first famous people, if you can call them that, people I've met and I was surprised at how human everyone was acting.
On the way home there was a bit of a fight with Stuart and his girlfriend, because he wanted to stop for kebabs and he was tired, and I went home and ate a slice of bread and it tasted like the best food in the world.
Lizzie
Sunday, 3 October 2010
a day in the life of a "music snob"
"Music is worthless unless it can make a complete stranger break down and cry."
- Frou Frou, "The Dumbing Down Of Love"
I feel like I'm the only person in my life that feels like I do. About music, and words, and people and The World.
I doubt it sometimes but it's true. I am what the Windows Live homepage (it could have been Virgin Media, actually) once referred to as a "music snob"; they defined it as someone who has a very certain taste in music and is sort of arrogant to other suggestions.
I think I probably come across as being like that sometimes, but I'm going to defend myself. Here is why.
I am not un-open-minded.
When I was younger, I didn't like mainstream music very much but I didn't look much furthur, which is how I became a strange kind of twelve-year-old who carried round an iPod on which she'd listen to 80s rock music, along with Scouting For Girls and Paolo Nutini, at that time before they were popular.
It wasn't until about a year ago I started to find the true value of music, until I started listening to Imogen Heap who I found through the internet. Her music wasn't only wonderuful, but led me to a network of other alternative musicians, most of which are completley different to each other; I discovered IAMX, Amanda Palmer, Blue October, much more. Then there are others, various people have introduced me to, Beirut is a good example. Over the last year, I've bought about twenty physical CDs which I think probably a record for me. It doesn't seem like a lot.
Because I like my blog more than I'll admit and I have too much time on my hands, I even drew a diagram with Paint to show this.
The other thing it did was turn me away from mainstream music completley. I don't hate Justin Bieber and Cheryl Cole and Britney and The Wanted, I just don't like them. A lot. It annoys me that I can't get away from listening to all of this. I'm made to acknowledge Top 40s style music every day, it gets played on the radio stations my parents listen to and on people's phones at school or whilst I'm waiting for my Subway sandwich, it's in everyone's Facebook status. Most people I know haven't heard of any of the above in their lives, and that makes me angry.
The thing that's brought this on is a coversation I was having (which turned into a joking type fight, which turned into a really huge and very real fight, which turned into us both hugging and crying because we're teenage girls) with my best friend yesterday in which she told me she'd decided Beyonce was the best singer, ever.
I felt pretty betrayed. Poppy is an Imogen Heap fan, she goes to shows with me and a lot of the time likes a lot of the music I like - I didn't realise until yesterday that she's the only person I know that does like the music I do, that's non Internet-wise. She also listens to things like Plan B, though, she likes Eminem and pretty much everything that the cast of Glee cover. It makes me sad that my friends and I will never like the same kind of music; we went bowling quite recently, and I have a distinct memory of sitting eating chips whilst they were all singing along to the song Billionaire. I knew I'd made the right choice, that the week's number one hit would never make them cry late at night, that they would never find anything that made them feel in "eh eh eh eh eh eh eh eh eh eh eh, stop telephonin' me", find that five second point in a really well produced song that actually makes a lump in your chest rise, see a live show as good as the ones I've been to, but it felt lonely and it makes me sad, sometimes.
Whoever is in between their earphones spent a fortnight singing in a recording studio, not two and a bit years writing, producing and playing every single instrument on an album.
I know I'm right. But sometimes I feel like I everyone else to.
- Frou Frou, "The Dumbing Down Of Love"
I feel like I'm the only person in my life that feels like I do. About music, and words, and people and The World.
I doubt it sometimes but it's true. I am what the Windows Live homepage (it could have been Virgin Media, actually) once referred to as a "music snob"; they defined it as someone who has a very certain taste in music and is sort of arrogant to other suggestions.
I think I probably come across as being like that sometimes, but I'm going to defend myself. Here is why.
I am not un-open-minded.
When I was younger, I didn't like mainstream music very much but I didn't look much furthur, which is how I became a strange kind of twelve-year-old who carried round an iPod on which she'd listen to 80s rock music, along with Scouting For Girls and Paolo Nutini, at that time before they were popular.
It wasn't until about a year ago I started to find the true value of music, until I started listening to Imogen Heap who I found through the internet. Her music wasn't only wonderuful, but led me to a network of other alternative musicians, most of which are completley different to each other; I discovered IAMX, Amanda Palmer, Blue October, much more. Then there are others, various people have introduced me to, Beirut is a good example. Over the last year, I've bought about twenty physical CDs which I think probably a record for me. It doesn't seem like a lot.
Because I like my blog more than I'll admit and I have too much time on my hands, I even drew a diagram with Paint to show this.
The other thing it did was turn me away from mainstream music completley. I don't hate Justin Bieber and Cheryl Cole and Britney and The Wanted, I just don't like them. A lot. It annoys me that I can't get away from listening to all of this. I'm made to acknowledge Top 40s style music every day, it gets played on the radio stations my parents listen to and on people's phones at school or whilst I'm waiting for my Subway sandwich, it's in everyone's Facebook status. Most people I know haven't heard of any of the above in their lives, and that makes me angry.
The thing that's brought this on is a coversation I was having (which turned into a joking type fight, which turned into a really huge and very real fight, which turned into us both hugging and crying because we're teenage girls) with my best friend yesterday in which she told me she'd decided Beyonce was the best singer, ever.
I felt pretty betrayed. Poppy is an Imogen Heap fan, she goes to shows with me and a lot of the time likes a lot of the music I like - I didn't realise until yesterday that she's the only person I know that does like the music I do, that's non Internet-wise. She also listens to things like Plan B, though, she likes Eminem and pretty much everything that the cast of Glee cover. It makes me sad that my friends and I will never like the same kind of music; we went bowling quite recently, and I have a distinct memory of sitting eating chips whilst they were all singing along to the song Billionaire. I knew I'd made the right choice, that the week's number one hit would never make them cry late at night, that they would never find anything that made them feel in "eh eh eh eh eh eh eh eh eh eh eh, stop telephonin' me", find that five second point in a really well produced song that actually makes a lump in your chest rise, see a live show as good as the ones I've been to, but it felt lonely and it makes me sad, sometimes.
Whoever is in between their earphones spent a fortnight singing in a recording studio, not two and a bit years writing, producing and playing every single instrument on an album.
I know I'm right. But sometimes I feel like I everyone else to.
Tuesday, 28 September 2010
I lost control. (sorry, contains talking about myself)
You've got me all mixed up inside,
These thoughts keep entering my mind,
I know these struggles all too well,
Guess I'm just one to kiss and tell
-Back Ted N-Ted, "The Mirror"
So. I did something stupid the other day.
If you’ve read this closely, or maybe even at all, you might have tried to guess but I haven’t done what you think. That would be more stupid. The other ironic thing would be that not even someone that read my blog would have thought of what I was thinking of then at all. Anyways.
A while ago, I went through an odd stage where I thought I was in love and around four months later, meaning now, I reached the point where I decided I’d tell my friends, or maybe just one of them, because it’s what teenage girls do. I’m not the sort of person that tells my friends everything I feel, just everything but this.
The situation it came out wasn’t really ideal, my friend and I were in a crowded place outside the canteen when she exclaimed, “Oh my God, it’s -insertnamehere-!”.
Her sister, Jemima, two years younger than us, had no idea what was going on but was passing and yelled, "-insertnamehere-!"
Rosie looked at me and her eyes lit up a little. "Wait, I know who -insertnamehere- is! Omigosh, what happened?!"
And then various more complex rumours began to circulate round the group of about ten of us, like gossip does. It's the kind I'd never been the subject of before, and I probably should have known it would happen. It was an experiment, and I didn't like it much. Lucky, none of them will have an oppurtunity to tell -insertnamehere-.
Now things are a mess. Over the last two days, it's developed and no-one understands, several people are mad at me because they feel like I owe them some kind of explanation for things that aren't to do with them. But I know how they feel.
I didn't think I'd feel like this. I thought I'd maybe just tell my best friend, who I should tell if anyone, and have time and space to explain it thoroughly and maybe cry a little and I'd feel better. That's not how it worked out. Suddenly everyone thinks things are a lot bigger than they area. My friendship group is dealing with bulimia and light sexual harrassment at the moment; it seemed like the time to tell someone my big thing. Now people think I'm pregnant and all sorts of things.
That's the only time I'll involve myself with teenagegirlytype behavior. I've learnt my lesson now, and I definitely won't use song lyrics to talk about my feelings because it's super-lame. There won't be blog posts like this again. Or situations I hope.
Goodnight xx
These thoughts keep entering my mind,
I know these struggles all too well,
Guess I'm just one to kiss and tell
-Back Ted N-Ted, "The Mirror"
So. I did something stupid the other day.
If you’ve read this closely, or maybe even at all, you might have tried to guess but I haven’t done what you think. That would be more stupid. The other ironic thing would be that not even someone that read my blog would have thought of what I was thinking of then at all. Anyways.
A while ago, I went through an odd stage where I thought I was in love and around four months later, meaning now, I reached the point where I decided I’d tell my friends, or maybe just one of them, because it’s what teenage girls do. I’m not the sort of person that tells my friends everything I feel, just everything but this.
The situation it came out wasn’t really ideal, my friend and I were in a crowded place outside the canteen when she exclaimed, “Oh my God, it’s -insertnamehere-!”.
Her sister, Jemima, two years younger than us, had no idea what was going on but was passing and yelled, "-insertnamehere-!"
Rosie looked at me and her eyes lit up a little. "Wait, I know who -insertnamehere- is! Omigosh, what happened?!"
And then various more complex rumours began to circulate round the group of about ten of us, like gossip does. It's the kind I'd never been the subject of before, and I probably should have known it would happen. It was an experiment, and I didn't like it much. Lucky, none of them will have an oppurtunity to tell -insertnamehere-.
Now things are a mess. Over the last two days, it's developed and no-one understands, several people are mad at me because they feel like I owe them some kind of explanation for things that aren't to do with them. But I know how they feel.
I didn't think I'd feel like this. I thought I'd maybe just tell my best friend, who I should tell if anyone, and have time and space to explain it thoroughly and maybe cry a little and I'd feel better. That's not how it worked out. Suddenly everyone thinks things are a lot bigger than they area. My friendship group is dealing with bulimia and light sexual harrassment at the moment; it seemed like the time to tell someone my big thing. Now people think I'm pregnant and all sorts of things.
That's the only time I'll involve myself with teenagegirlytype behavior. I've learnt my lesson now, and I definitely won't use song lyrics to talk about my feelings because it's super-lame. There won't be blog posts like this again. Or situations I hope.
Goodnight xx
Tuesday, 17 August 2010
Having heroes, Lisbeth Salander and Who We All Really Are
I am the sort of person that has a lot of heroes.
Maybe it's a bad thing, or not. I think in some way pretty much all humans get inspired or influenced by other humans, usually not the ones around us but those far away. I always have a few, sometimes they change or stick arounnd a long while. I can name them from the top of my head, and most people that know me would probably say the same. Imogen Heap. Neil Gaiman. Amanda Palmer, Kina Grannis, Chris Corner.
Most of them are to do with music, oddly there's only one writer, but what these have in common I think is creativity and freedom. And travel a lot and have a lot of people that love them and care about what they think, and that at the moment is what I want the most, and I hope that I want that pretty much forever, and maybe even achieve it.
There are real people too. My best friend, because she is one of the most strong willed people I know, and can teach herself to do things like drink coffee or run a long way. Another of my friends, perhaps the most beautiful person I know for real and also most intelligent, who I envied for a while before I got comfrier with myself - that sounded tacky. My three online friends, who I'm collabowriting with, because each of them are geniuses.
I had a severe case of hero-influence when I was around 12/13, which was the time I was obsessed with the show Britannia High. There was a girl in it named Lola, who was bright and ditzy a dancer and unrealistically dumb, and for some reason I idolised her completley. I started buying yellow clothes. I acted stupid, on purpose. It was ridiculous.
A few months after that, and a little overlapping, came Stacie Monroe, who is still one of my favourite fictional characters of all-time; a sultry, sarcastic, independant rather kick-ass female con-artist in a group of testosterone fuelled males. The TV show she was in was called Hustle, and you should watch it because it is genius.
Recently, my father gave me a book called The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo - big deal at the moment, I'm sure you've heard of it - and told me to read it because the female heroine was excellent. It's true, I'm halfway through and it is pretty brilliant, Lisbeth Salander (violent, intelligent yet deemed socially incompetent bisexual computer hacker) is wonderful and inspiring, and one of those characters that you feel crackling off the page. Yes, the book make me want to buy a Netbook. But she didn't make my list of people that are wonderful, partly because she isn't real and partly because I don't really have it anymore.
The point I was trying to make here was that I don't think I do this anymore, which is good. Yes, "heroes" influence me because they prove to me that I'm not going to be an accountant. That there's a point in writing down the things that happen in my head, that I can dress how I want to, that "music is worthless unless it can make a complete stranger break down and cry", and that there's people that maybe feel the same as me and if I ever get there, we will all be friends and have picnics in Berlin.
cats.
Lizzie
Maybe it's a bad thing, or not. I think in some way pretty much all humans get inspired or influenced by other humans, usually not the ones around us but those far away. I always have a few, sometimes they change or stick arounnd a long while. I can name them from the top of my head, and most people that know me would probably say the same. Imogen Heap. Neil Gaiman. Amanda Palmer, Kina Grannis, Chris Corner.
Most of them are to do with music, oddly there's only one writer, but what these have in common I think is creativity and freedom. And travel a lot and have a lot of people that love them and care about what they think, and that at the moment is what I want the most, and I hope that I want that pretty much forever, and maybe even achieve it.
There are real people too. My best friend, because she is one of the most strong willed people I know, and can teach herself to do things like drink coffee or run a long way. Another of my friends, perhaps the most beautiful person I know for real and also most intelligent, who I envied for a while before I got comfrier with myself - that sounded tacky. My three online friends, who I'm collabowriting with, because each of them are geniuses.
I had a severe case of hero-influence when I was around 12/13, which was the time I was obsessed with the show Britannia High. There was a girl in it named Lola, who was bright and ditzy a dancer and unrealistically dumb, and for some reason I idolised her completley. I started buying yellow clothes. I acted stupid, on purpose. It was ridiculous.
A few months after that, and a little overlapping, came Stacie Monroe, who is still one of my favourite fictional characters of all-time; a sultry, sarcastic, independant rather kick-ass female con-artist in a group of testosterone fuelled males. The TV show she was in was called Hustle, and you should watch it because it is genius.
Recently, my father gave me a book called The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo - big deal at the moment, I'm sure you've heard of it - and told me to read it because the female heroine was excellent. It's true, I'm halfway through and it is pretty brilliant, Lisbeth Salander (violent, intelligent yet deemed socially incompetent bisexual computer hacker) is wonderful and inspiring, and one of those characters that you feel crackling off the page. Yes, the book make me want to buy a Netbook. But she didn't make my list of people that are wonderful, partly because she isn't real and partly because I don't really have it anymore.
The point I was trying to make here was that I don't think I do this anymore, which is good. Yes, "heroes" influence me because they prove to me that I'm not going to be an accountant. That there's a point in writing down the things that happen in my head, that I can dress how I want to, that "music is worthless unless it can make a complete stranger break down and cry", and that there's people that maybe feel the same as me and if I ever get there, we will all be friends and have picnics in Berlin.
cats.
Lizzie
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