Dear Diary: My Higher Education: Part 1

Please enjoy the first in this series -- I will leave you to decide whether or not all of this actually happened... :-)

Tuesday 28th October

Interesting development occurred during my lecture this afternoon. Don’t ask me what it was about, I spent most of it staring at the back of **Michael’s head. Amongst my lecture notes, I wrote the following:

Two seats up and one seat over and all I want to do is sniff the bit of your neck where it meets your shoulder because I know that the smell of you will make me aware of all of my skin, all at the same time.

So apparently, I’ve got a crush on my teacher. Who knew? How delightfully unexpected!

**names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.

(Part 2 coming soon.)

In Which I Attempt a Musically Related Top 5 List

Recently, I caught a Twitter gauntlet thrown at me by the always delightful @WriteOnNZ in a conversation with the equally congenial @BretInVancouver. The challenge: to come up with a Top 5 list of songs/books/films, etc.


“IMPOSSIBLE TASK / ONLY FIVE? IT CAN’T BE DONE / THIS IS THE STUFF OF MADNESS!” quoth I; my protestations resolute and many varied.

And yet – here we are: never one to shy away from a contest, I thought I’d have a go. I figure the odds of sending myself to the loony bin could be significantly stacked in my favour if I did a Top 5 of a category of a category of song or something.

So without further ado, I give you:


TOP FIVE SONGS WHICH I CAME UP WITH OFF THE TOP OF MY HEAD THE ORDER AND CONTENT OF WHICH MAY CHANGE IN THE NEXT FIVE MINUTES WHICH HAVE A KILLER OPENING 30 SECONDS
SUBCATEGORY: GOOSEBUMPS
SUB-SUBCATEGORY: WHICH MAKE YOU CLOSE YOUR EYES AND SMILE GOOFILY SUB-SUB-SUBCATEGORY: IN WHICH REWINDING THE SONG TO THE BEGINNING AGAIN JUST TO HEAR THE BEGINNING AGAIN IS NOT ONLY COMPLETELY PERMISSABLE BUT KIND OF EXPECTED

Waterfall/Don’t Stop – The Stone Roses
Really, the opening 30 seconds of Don’t Stop depends very heavily on your ability to identify the ending of the previous track - Waterfall - which, if you’re a Roses fan, you know kind of meld into one another. You know how it goes: you’re grooving on the trip of the end of Waterfall, and you notice the track number on your CD player has changed so you know Don’t Stop has started, but you’re not sure exactly when. So I’m about 1:24 into Don’t Stop and here’s where you must pay attention: listen to when Reni (drummer) switches from hi-hat to whatever that other cymbal is called.... are you there? I make it about the 1:40 mark. And then? They all come together – Squire’s swirly guitar, a tambourine comes in on the 2 and the 4 and everyone follow Mani’s ascending bassline for what – five notes? It kind of goes da-da-daaaa, da-daaaa, da-daaaaa.... just before the vocal comes in? Are you there? That – that right there MAKES ME DIE.




Sweat – Tool
I have a very distinct memory of how I came to appreciate the beginning of this song: I am 16, maybe 17. I am waiting for the bus to take me to school – I am late, as usual, so I have missed the bus I should have caught, and quite possibly the one after that. I don’t care – I have a Sony Walkman. Remember the yellow one with two earphone jacks, that claimed to be waterproof? That one. I have a backpack full of Bic pens (to help rewind tapes and conserve double AA power) and loads of batteries. I’ve got the volume cranked all the way up, and this song comes on. Now, as you may or may not know, everything on headphones is intensified anyway, so while what I am about to introduce may just be one solitary strike of one solitary part of one solitary instrument, it had an eyes-rolling-into-back-of-head effect on the young bus stop me, and I wore out the buttons on that bloody yellow monstrosity all the freakin’ way to school just so I could hear it again and again and again. I’m talking about the single, solitary, smack of the drum (it kind of echoes) at about the :21 second mark before the song really starts. Love, love, love.



So Says I – The Shins
Nothing fancy about this one – another headphones discovery. The first 5 seconds I love; the guitar just trickles down, sneaks up on you and then WAH-BAM the song gets on with itself. Slick, jangly, attention grabbing.

Where the Streets Have No Name – U2
Controversial – I know they’re not everyone’s cup of tea. But they were the first band I properly lost my shit over, when I was a young, impressionable girl. I first saw them in 1992 and the introduction to this song is what I heard in my mind when, I was sitting in the back of my Dad’s Toyota on the way to the big city to see them for the first time. Ontario friends – you know when you get off the 427 by Lakeshore? The introduction to this song is the noise of the view of the majestic Toronto skyline coming around that corner.



 Can’t Stop – Red Hot Chili Peppers
CONTROVERSIAL AGAIN. I love, love, love the first 30 seconds of this song, and then I fucking HATE this song. (Yes, Jason – it was necessary to swear there.) This song will also feature in an upcoming sub-category called UNIMAGINATIVE MELODY WHICH COMPLETELY RUINS AN OTHERWISE BELTER OF A TUNE. I am from the Freaky Styley Uplift Mofo Milk Magik school of Chili’s fans and this ‘new’ music they put out doesn’t grab me like it used to. But this song? This song did. I heard it one day and thought HEY, WHAT’S THIS? IS FRUSCIANTE BACK ON SMACK AGAIN, BECAUSE THIS IS GOOOOOD!!! And then Keidis comes in and covers up all that guitar divinity with a completely parallel line of melody. 2006’s biggest musical let down. Get thee to the naughty step, Anthony.





There you have it. That’s what I have produced (with the aid of my current iPod playlist). Undoubtedly there will be more, but I am spent. I need a lie down.


Honourable Mentions (Bands I Like Because of the Introductions of These Songs)
Let’s Dance to Joy Division - The Wombats
Date With the Night – Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Blue Orchid – White Stripes
Never Let Me Down (Again) – Depeche Mode
Patti Smith Math Scratch – Thurston Moore
Dogs of Lust – The The
Would – Alice in Chains
Pearl Jam – Porch
Going Up (To Portland) – Swell (can't find a link!!!)
Superstition – Steve Wonder
Take the Money and Run – Steve Miller Band
The Criminal – Sons of Freedom
Dirty Boots – Sonic Youth
So Far Away – Social Distortion
How Soon is Now – Smiths
A Side Wins – Sloan (the lyrics of this will be part of my next tattoo, incidentally...)
Well Thought Out Twinkles – Silversun Pickups
Crank – Catherine Wheel


GAH! I can’t do any more. I was right the first time:  THIS CAN’T BE DONE.

Me and John Barrowman Say Tomahto

A couple of weeks ago I declared that England was confused.  It’s nearer the truth to say that it’s me that’s the wrong way round – especially when it comes to my speaking voice.

I was born in England, as you may well know.  We moved to Canada when I was 5 years old, and some of my earliest memories of that time involve being very quickly labelled ‘the kid who talks funny’ so it wasn’t long before my schoolyard survival instinct subconsciously began to kick in, and my Teeside twang gave way to a rounded Canadian drawl.  My brother was exactly the same.  At least, between the hours of 9am and 3.30pm while we were at school.

But as soon as we were home, we’d slip straight back into our ‘normal’ accents.  With our parents, we spoke as we ever did.  And that’s the way it was.  ‘English’ with English people, and ‘Canadian’ with Canadian people – it just made sense at the time to our still fresh-off-the-boat brains.

Now?  My accent oscillates between the sublime and the ridiculous on a daily basis.  I speak in a Canadian accent in front of my husband and kids, though neither of the boys have really picked up any elements of it.  There was a brief interlude when Ben was very little, when certain words (“candle”, for example, or anything else with a short ‘a’) would come out a little bit Canadian, but it didn’t last very long.  

But hooooo-weee, when my parents are visiting from Canada, I get completely confused. I can be sitting in a room having a conversation with my parents and Jason at the same time, and if I reply to something my Dad has said, it’ll be in an English accent, and if I reply to something Jason has said, I’m Canadian again.  It is such a struggle - I don't know whether I'm coming or going.  It really is most unconsciously done – it’s just something that happens involuntarily, like sneezing or a bout of the hiccups.  I must sound like a total knob.

Jason says it even goes further than that –  even the Canadian-ness varies by degrees:  he says that when I talk on the phone to my Canadian friends, I get ‘extra-Canadian’ and as soon as I put the phone down I revert back to ‘regular-Canadian’.

And here's another one:  normally I speak in a Canadian accent to tmy kids, but when my Mum visits and it’s just me, her and the kids, I speak in an English accent to them.  They must think I'm completely bananas.  

I blame my mother, God love her.  I can hear the change in my Mum’s accent when she’s talking with her Yorkshire brothers and sisters.  It's 'put t'kettle on' this and 'by 'eck' that and  lots of 'lick road clean wi' tongue' flying about the place.  And then the next thing you know, she's a bit more North Eastern when she’s speaking with me and Dad.  Don't even get me started how Canadian she sounds when she answers the phone in her office.  IT IS BONKERS.

What is 'hubba hubba' in Scottish?

I thought I was alone in this madness, until one day I watched a documentary about John Barrowman.  John, star of Dr Who and Torchwood (which I love, love, love) who was born in Glasgow but grew up in the US.  I can’t remember what show it was – it was a biographical documentary about him, and there he was, in his mother’s American kitchen speaking with a lovely hard Glaswegian burr.  And then… AND THEN!  He turns to the camera and speaks ‘American’ again! 

Oh, but did my heart ever skip a beat!  I’M NOT THE ONLY ACCENT WEIRDO.  Hurrah for me!  And hurrah for John! 

Here he is, speaking about it a little.  

 
The peculiar thing about it all now, upon reflection, is that when I was a kid all I wanted was to be able to blend into the background – I changed the way I spoke to fit in, and for no other reason.  And yet now?  I want to distinguish myself from the background any chance I get.  I’m no wallflower; the hell with blending in.  So living in England, unless I’m with my family In Yorkshire, I speak with my Canadian accent.  And just to eff with things in a balanced way (I'm nothing if not well rounded) -- when I am Canada, say, for example at the supermarket with my Mum, I’m the bloody biggest blimey Limey you ever did hear.

I know you think I’m a total nutjob.

Never mind, I know John would understand.   

The World Cup, Part 2

SCENE: A KITCHEN. EARLY APRIL.

A mobile phone beeps on a worktop. A man, who is sporting an unsightly beard, picks it up. A woman with very lovely hair enters.

Man: Claire’s just sent you a picture of her new kitten on your phone.

Woman: Oh! Lovely. Er... what are you looking at my texts for?

Man: I wasn’t – on your new phone it flashes up on the screen when you get a picture message.

Woman: Oh? (picks up phone) Ah... lovely. Isn’t she cute?

SCENE: BATHROOM. AN EARLY JUNE EVENING.
A woman sits on the bathroom floor. In front of her is a cupboard, the door of which is open.  She is surrounded by jars and bottles of varying levels of emptiness – bubble bath, shaving foam, moisturiser. She is looking in a zippered bag, filled with makeup. She extracts a lipstick from the bag, removes the lid, and twists the tube.

W: “Scarlet Fever.”

The woman gathers her hair (which is breathtakingly lovely) into a loose knot at the base of her neck. She chuckles.

SCENE: LIVING ROOM. AN EARLY JUNE EVENING.
A man is sitting on a sofa. He is overdue a shave. On the television in the corner there is football. It is the World Cup.

M: (calling upstairs) I said I’ll come up in a minute, I just want to watch the rest of this.

A woman descends the stairs.

W: I thought of a way to make you look away from the football.

The man looks up. He looks back at the television. He looks at the woman again. He stands up.

M: Well, those are certainly... patriotic.

W: Thank you.

M: How did you... er... get the St George’s Cross so straight?  I mean, despite the... er... curvature?

W: It was a tad tricky, to be sure. Especially in the mirror.  You know, backwards and all.

The man cocks his head to one side.

M:  Would have been easier if we were Japanese, I suppose.
W:  Indeed.

M: Well, credit where credit’s due. It is very nice work. EN-GER-LAND.

W: I’m glad you like them.

The man climbs the stairs.

W: Where are you going?

M: To get my phone – I’ve got to get a picture of them.

W: NOT ON YOUR LIFE.

M: Come on.

W: Up yours.

M: Well it’s not as if I’m going to show it to anybody.

W: Not for a million quid.

A few moments pass.

M: From the neck down?

W: Well hurry up then, I’m getting cold.

SCENE: BEDROOM. A JUNE EVENING.

A woman and a man are both looking at a mobile phone. The woman is agitated, yet her hair is inexplicably attractive. The man sports a beard.

Woman: You’re taking the piss!

Man: I’m telling you, I sent it!

W: Well, I haven’t received it. Are you sure you sent it to me?

M: (giggling, progresses to laughter) I hope I sent it to you – who’s name is next to yours in my contacts list?

W: Oh, my holy god. Get. Your. Phone. CHECK IT! CHECK IT NOW!

The man leaves the room. After a while, he returns with another mobile phone.

M: It’s definitely gone. Look, it’s in my ‘sent’ messages.

The woman investigates the phone.  After a moment she appears relieved.

W: (laughing) What a relief!

M: It’ll probably come through later. The second half’s about to start -- shall I open another bottle?

W: Mmm.

SCENE: AN OFFICE. MID JUNE. FIVE DAYS LATER.

Two men and two women are sitting around a table in a room. They are having a business meeting. They are co-workers. One of the women has excellent hair. In the centre of the table are various pieces of paper, and a mobile phone.

The mobile phone vibrates – a picture message has arrived.

Of COURSE That Would Happen to Me

On Tuesday at work I started writing that day’s blog post. You know, the one with all the kissing and licquorice and OMGOMGOMG’s? Yeah. That one.

Half way through writing an early draft of it, I wasn’t happy with the way it was flowing, so I printed it out and used my pencil to make a few amendments here and there, ready to copy in when I got home that night. I never thought anything of it.

Then, yesterday when my boss was reading something that I’d given him to approve, he handed a single piece of paper to me and said, “Er, that was in with your document from before…”

No prizes for guessing what it was. The first 5 paragraphs of “My Fickle Lips” blog entry. And now I feel slightly nauseated.

(I’ll wait here while you go and check where the 5 paragraphs end – look for the “hands in my hair OMG,OMG,OMG”, etc. etc..)

* * * *

See what I mean?

MOR!  TIFF!  EYED.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of what I wrote and AS A COMPLETED PIECE OF PROSE it rounds itself off nicely (though I say so myself) and contextualises all the bits that make me sound like a total nut job. A slutty, trampy nut job who is obviously writing an erotic autobiography.

On work time.

Great!