you know it's gonna be okay!
NA NA NA NA NA NAAAAA!!!!
The past few weeks have been fraught with some disasters - first the death of that old laptop, then the death of my 450-gigabyte external hard drive D: D: D: D:
Mum phoned me a couple of days ago and told me, "Oh, and there is no internet..." I was like, grrrreat. But I fixed that within five minutes of getting home. My lovely desktop computer, however, seemed to be the next victim. Windows couldn't start in normal mode and some big time video card plugin failure was reported. But the download of an update and/or adjusting the cable of the monitor fixed it! Who knows, my OS is obviously in dire need of a reinstall, maybe it won't start up next time, but I'm so glad right now! I'd be alright with reduced-mode Windows if it had sound, but without it I'm just lost and on the brink of self-destruction. I'm so not switching this bitch off until I've watched all the BSG and Big Bang Theory I have with me (courtesy of my bb Irulan).
Library adventures again!!! Early in the afternoon I went to find stuff about the Iranian Revolution (it might seem like I'm doing a specialised Middle-East course but I'm not, it's just I always end up with these topics and at least I have a clue about Islam and no longer think that Halal is something to do with Hindus -- ugggggh I cringe at the ignorance of my young and foolish self, I would've deserved to get cut down by a bunch of mujahedeen when walking round London's Indiatown way back then.) BUT NO ONE CARES ANYWAY. Point is, after I found one seemingly useful study, I went to survey the British Council shelves for Pratchett books. And then I thought, hell, I always just look for books by specific authors, how about I simply browse for once? And I was just staring into space at nothing in particular, when suddenly I notice something in the corner of my eye. Only Noel's fucking Union Flag guitar on the spine of some book!!! Obviously, that could still go either way, but omg it is The Last Party: Britpop, Blair and the Demise of English Rock by John Harris. It was worth borrowing just for the photo of Damon Albarn in swimming trunks in the picture inlay (what a two-faced bastard btw, hangin' with Tony, Prescott and Campbell before they got elected and then swiftly denouncing the whole New Labour schmooze, anyway I do love him still hahaha), but oooooooooaaaaaaaah. Literally just what I needed. So far it's the story of indie labels and the Mondays and the Roses and I love it ksfgksfsh.
The tail-end of Britpop perhaps fixed it as something to be scorned rather than embraced. Listening to Be Here Now rather than Definitely Maybe, fixating on tales of druggy torpor rather than creative achievement, puzzling over the involvement of the Blairites, or giggling at Bripop's also-rans rather than appreciating its leading lights, cynicism seems to be much the sensible option. However, a decade ['n a half] since Britpop's first stirrings, this is a timely moment to reflect that, for all the misplaced hyperbole, bandwagon-jumping and unseemly fall-out, the period between 1992 and 1998 saw the creation of some truly brilliant music.
THANK YOU. You know what amuses me in a sort of sad way? The Guardian's music blog. They always seem to have articles like, "Is 2007 the new 1997?" just because guitar bands seem to have become ever so slightly overbearing and lots of people do lots of cocaine, and apparently "Peaches Geldof is the new Meg Mathews?!?!?!??!" or whatever. IDK I don't like Meg much at all but she was the bona fide wife on a bona fide rock'n'roll star, not a truly vacant oxygen-thieving little rich boomtown brat who lives off precisely the kinds of things like being mentioned even in the Guardian for no reason. And come on, just because you're unable or unwilling to look past Radio 1, you're suddenly panicking? The mainstream is always a bit irritating, you always have to have a look around to find exciting stuff. And "what next?" Well, evidently, boybands and nu-metal. Aren't you just gonna love it, you narrow-sighted twat.
By the way, one time when I was really sleep-deprived, I coined a nickname for all these landfill bands. Beebiegeebies. As in, BBGBs. As in, Boring British Guitar Bands. Copyrighted, no stealin'!!! LOLOLOL.
The past few weeks have been fraught with some disasters - first the death of that old laptop, then the death of my 450-gigabyte external hard drive D: D: D: D:
Mum phoned me a couple of days ago and told me, "Oh, and there is no internet..." I was like, grrrreat. But I fixed that within five minutes of getting home. My lovely desktop computer, however, seemed to be the next victim. Windows couldn't start in normal mode and some big time video card plugin failure was reported. But the download of an update and/or adjusting the cable of the monitor fixed it! Who knows, my OS is obviously in dire need of a reinstall, maybe it won't start up next time, but I'm so glad right now! I'd be alright with reduced-mode Windows if it had sound, but without it I'm just lost and on the brink of self-destruction. I'm so not switching this bitch off until I've watched all the BSG and Big Bang Theory I have with me (courtesy of my bb Irulan).
Library adventures again!!! Early in the afternoon I went to find stuff about the Iranian Revolution (it might seem like I'm doing a specialised Middle-East course but I'm not, it's just I always end up with these topics and at least I have a clue about Islam and no longer think that Halal is something to do with Hindus -- ugggggh I cringe at the ignorance of my young and foolish self, I would've deserved to get cut down by a bunch of mujahedeen when walking round London's Indiatown way back then.) BUT NO ONE CARES ANYWAY. Point is, after I found one seemingly useful study, I went to survey the British Council shelves for Pratchett books. And then I thought, hell, I always just look for books by specific authors, how about I simply browse for once? And I was just staring into space at nothing in particular, when suddenly I notice something in the corner of my eye. Only Noel's fucking Union Flag guitar on the spine of some book!!! Obviously, that could still go either way, but omg it is The Last Party: Britpop, Blair and the Demise of English Rock by John Harris. It was worth borrowing just for the photo of Damon Albarn in swimming trunks in the picture inlay (what a two-faced bastard btw, hangin' with Tony, Prescott and Campbell before they got elected and then swiftly denouncing the whole New Labour schmooze, anyway I do love him still hahaha), but oooooooooaaaaaaaah. Literally just what I needed. So far it's the story of indie labels and the Mondays and the Roses and I love it ksfgksfsh.
The tail-end of Britpop perhaps fixed it as something to be scorned rather than embraced. Listening to Be Here Now rather than Definitely Maybe, fixating on tales of druggy torpor rather than creative achievement, puzzling over the involvement of the Blairites, or giggling at Bripop's also-rans rather than appreciating its leading lights, cynicism seems to be much the sensible option. However, a decade ['n a half] since Britpop's first stirrings, this is a timely moment to reflect that, for all the misplaced hyperbole, bandwagon-jumping and unseemly fall-out, the period between 1992 and 1998 saw the creation of some truly brilliant music.
THANK YOU. You know what amuses me in a sort of sad way? The Guardian's music blog. They always seem to have articles like, "Is 2007 the new 1997?" just because guitar bands seem to have become ever so slightly overbearing and lots of people do lots of cocaine, and apparently "Peaches Geldof is the new Meg Mathews?!?!?!??!" or whatever. IDK I don't like Meg much at all but she was the bona fide wife on a bona fide rock'n'roll star, not a truly vacant oxygen-thieving little rich boomtown brat who lives off precisely the kinds of things like being mentioned even in the Guardian for no reason. And come on, just because you're unable or unwilling to look past Radio 1, you're suddenly panicking? The mainstream is always a bit irritating, you always have to have a look around to find exciting stuff. And "what next?" Well, evidently, boybands and nu-metal. Aren't you just gonna love it, you narrow-sighted twat.
By the way, one time when I was really sleep-deprived, I coined a nickname for all these landfill bands. Beebiegeebies. As in, BBGBs. As in, Boring British Guitar Bands. Copyrighted, no stealin'!!! LOLOLOL.