sweet and lovely
I must linger on the subject of Stephen Fry's brilliance a little more.
I love him so much, he possesses a rare combination of admirable and amiable qualities. He's so immensely intelligent and erudite, but when he amazes you with his knowledge, he doesn't make you feel bad about your own lack of it. He merely makes you aware of it and urges you to make up for it, in a very good way. I really dislike people who flaunt their knowledge just for the sake of showing off their own greatness. I suppose we all fall into this obnoxious trap from time to time, but on the whole, it should be about wanting to share something because the thing itself is so impressive. With Stephen, I always feel like that. And, for all his wit, he's rather humble. When he completely outsmarted the American kid about pretzels and their significance to American culture, and the guy (who wasn't that clueless, and quite funny, really) exclaimed, "You know more aobut it than I do!" he just reacted with, "Well, the spectator sees more of the game, I suppose..." to which I exclaimed, "WHAT A FUCKING GENTLEMAN!" lolol.
And it's obvious that he feels he is under a lot of pressure being a national fucking treasure, but he is so kind. Let me give you a first-hand example. (Okay, this isn't going to be very impressive, but consider the idea itself.) He opened a Twitter account a few days ago. Like most fans, I squealed and followed him immediately. And here is the astonishing thing: he feels obliged to follow back, and despite having some 3,000 people swarm his page in so short a time, he really tries to. E-mail today: Stephen is following me on Twitter. I know it's just a fucking little click (at 3am GMT? oh darling get some sleep), but my heart is so very full of glee now. I hope he gets back from the jungle safe and sound.
In the afternoon I rode around on the small bike, picking up chestnuts and worshipping the sunlight. I wouldn't appreciate this town as much if I lived here all the time and its nightlife were the only nightlife I could choose and its pubs and its locals and its pettiness and slow boredom were a constant presence in my life, but this way, it's more and more beautiful each time I see it. I went out about half an hour ago again, and the mist all over the field with the moon and that smell in the air, it's... enough.
Sam was here in the evening, we listened to music and ate chocolate. She asked for some Keane, so I lent her my special CD (packaginng by Sidi), and elaborated on the wonders of "Hamburg Song."
My turntable is working again. There are quite a few things to get spinning. About two weeks ago I found tons of fantastic vinyls in one of those Múzeum körút second hand bookshops. I only bought three, for a total price of about €12: Beatles For Sale (which was a present for Sam), a Donovan LP by the name of Starsound Collection (a West German compilation, I gather), and A Night At The Opera by Queen. All in perfect condition. FUCK YESSSSSS.
The entry is now dripping with sugary sweet loveliness, and no doubt making all of us queasy. Bye.
Oh, wait. My Muse gig was a year ago. Are October 10ths destined to be great days? When the fuck can I see them again omfgggggg twitch twitch seize fuckkk nnnnnngh i want it now spaz (took a left off Saccharine Street, there.)
I love him so much, he possesses a rare combination of admirable and amiable qualities. He's so immensely intelligent and erudite, but when he amazes you with his knowledge, he doesn't make you feel bad about your own lack of it. He merely makes you aware of it and urges you to make up for it, in a very good way. I really dislike people who flaunt their knowledge just for the sake of showing off their own greatness. I suppose we all fall into this obnoxious trap from time to time, but on the whole, it should be about wanting to share something because the thing itself is so impressive. With Stephen, I always feel like that. And, for all his wit, he's rather humble. When he completely outsmarted the American kid about pretzels and their significance to American culture, and the guy (who wasn't that clueless, and quite funny, really) exclaimed, "You know more aobut it than I do!" he just reacted with, "Well, the spectator sees more of the game, I suppose..." to which I exclaimed, "WHAT A FUCKING GENTLEMAN!" lolol.
And it's obvious that he feels he is under a lot of pressure being a national fucking treasure, but he is so kind. Let me give you a first-hand example. (Okay, this isn't going to be very impressive, but consider the idea itself.) He opened a Twitter account a few days ago. Like most fans, I squealed and followed him immediately. And here is the astonishing thing: he feels obliged to follow back, and despite having some 3,000 people swarm his page in so short a time, he really tries to. E-mail today: Stephen is following me on Twitter. I know it's just a fucking little click (at 3am GMT? oh darling get some sleep), but my heart is so very full of glee now. I hope he gets back from the jungle safe and sound.
In the afternoon I rode around on the small bike, picking up chestnuts and worshipping the sunlight. I wouldn't appreciate this town as much if I lived here all the time and its nightlife were the only nightlife I could choose and its pubs and its locals and its pettiness and slow boredom were a constant presence in my life, but this way, it's more and more beautiful each time I see it. I went out about half an hour ago again, and the mist all over the field with the moon and that smell in the air, it's... enough.
Sam was here in the evening, we listened to music and ate chocolate. She asked for some Keane, so I lent her my special CD (packaginng by Sidi), and elaborated on the wonders of "Hamburg Song."
My turntable is working again. There are quite a few things to get spinning. About two weeks ago I found tons of fantastic vinyls in one of those Múzeum körút second hand bookshops. I only bought three, for a total price of about €12: Beatles For Sale (which was a present for Sam), a Donovan LP by the name of Starsound Collection (a West German compilation, I gather), and A Night At The Opera by Queen. All in perfect condition. FUCK YESSSSSS.
The entry is now dripping with sugary sweet loveliness, and no doubt making all of us queasy. Bye.
Oh, wait. My Muse gig was a year ago. Are October 10ths destined to be great days? When the fuck can I see them again omfgggggg twitch twitch seize fuckkk nnnnnngh i want it now spaz (took a left off Saccharine Street, there.)