Wednesday, October 13, 2004

September 9 (Thursday): Rabkin. More early morning MSN and I have Sara going off on one at me, telling me how I am not myself and how I am acting strange and that there is “something up� with me. Maybe there is, maybe there isn’t. Fortunately by the time I leave home for work I have come around and cheered up, mainly due to a very funny episode of Everyone Loves Raymond featuring his wife looking really fit and getting drunk. I stroll into work with Mary J. Blige on the radio and all is bling.

Tonight I begin my English course. I leave around 6.40 and turn up at Wilson Marriage Centre and begin having pulpitations and ‘Nam-esqe flashbacks. Terrifyingly I recognise faces from ten years ago and scarily some of them recognise me. I shouldn’t rag on it but this really is the most depressing building ever known and it obviously means a lot of bad stuff to me.

I arrive and check out where my class is being held and I stroll through the building and find my room. It is five minutes to class time and the door is locked and everything is empty. Another woman wanders around looking lost also so I speak to her and she is on the same course as me. Then things get amusing as Emma Webb turns up. I eventually wave her over and it turns out that she is doing the same course as me, which is both really good and really bad. Start time (7pm) comes and goes and there remains no sign of life. Emma disappears to go look/find out “what gives� on our part and it turns out that the class has been moved and we have missed the beginning. The three of us roll up and stroll in late and redfaced. I hate such embarrassment. The night is a general intro, easing us into the course and just before break we have to do a roundtable introduction of the approximately twenty of us. I look around for honeys and there are a couple but upon introduction they appear to average three kids a piece. There are also a couple of funny looking girls who turn out to be about 16, its scary to think that I am officially twelve years older than these bints. When it comes around to introducing myself I fumble and fail to make funnies, perhaps I am now the token suit (by the end of the evening teacher is referring to me as “the accountant�). I tell her “I am bored and it is all work work work and in accounting there is little room to be creative, creative accounting is kind of frowned upon�. My big joke and silence. Ho ho.

Later we take a learning test on the computers and I/we get further exposed to parts of Wilson Marriage Centre and suddenly it is all coming back. I sit in a room that ten years ago (almost to the day) I was initially stepping out into the world and learning business administration! Loser. At least they have installed new computers now. I tear through the test, being the first in our group to complete it and also teacher tells me “the quickest person to ever complete it�. The test was rudimentary, asking you questions about “what hand you do this with� and “how you read things etc�. I avoid giving any left handed/sided questions as Drew has said left handed means gay. My test results say I learn kinesitically (apparently).

I’m kind of hoping to happen upon a group akin to the ensemble in the TV show Book Group but I really don’t think I will based upon first impressions. The teacher however is fantastic, she completely reminds me of the Illeana Douglas character from Ghost World. And that is passionate.

The lesson ends and Emma has managed to get me a free in at the Arts Centre for the show, which is a real result. I give her lift to the Arts Centre and find myself still able to crack her up with her really loud laugh (hyena babe).

Upon arrival This Ain’t Vegas are playing and I immediately hook up with Chris, perched at the decks (well, CD players). I see Staff also and say “hi�. He seems a bit humpity and it turns out that Kill Yourself have been less than pleasant in their attitude today and this evening. I attempt to drag Mark out to the show but he is knackered and uninterested and at a price tag of £6 you can hardly blame him for a no-show.

This Ain’t Vegas are ok but pretty much emo by numbers. And that is original emo inspired (DC stuff) not what goes for emo these days, which is weak punk bands with sissy boys on vocals. This Ain’t Vegas are perhaps the sort of band that I might have loved five years ago but no longer have the least bit of interest in. A Shudder To Think comparison wouldn’t go a miss and the vocals very much reminded me of the singer from Karate (Farina?) but definitely not the music. This ain’t variation.

Next up are the budged Kill Yourself, originally headliners I think maybe. Apparently so far, they appear to have spent the day rubbing up people the wrong, which is a sure sign of tiredness and fatigue as well as attitude. And it doesn’t help when Chris’s DJing is interrupted by one of the band asking him to stop playing his tracks and play a crummy CD by Itzhak Perlman. Oh yeah, that is real alternative, kill the mood by putting on some wanky high brow music. Alienation is their business. The start their set and it is very much the in thing for now, Lightning Bolt by numbers. I’ve always also felt there is/was a real Oxes element to their music, which is ironic because most people seem to hate that band. Ultimately Kill Yourself seem to be trying too hard, with all the semi stripping off and silly gas mask gimmick. Again, this is a band I would probably have loved five years ago but now, viewed as an adult, its just fucking silly. Kudos.

Somehow, somewhere The Parnell Deception headline and this is about the fourth time I have seen them play this year. Again it sounds like Tool and looks like QOTSA. I spend the majority of the set at the bar talking to Emma, making her and her sister piss themselves with laughter. In between songs, all Parnell Deception can probably hear is their cackling and it must make them feel like Tenacious D. Before the close of their set, I stop being rude and take in at least some of the set and at least the old Colchester scenesters actually seem to put some welly into playing, a singer that actually can sing. I return to the DJ bit and Chris and Sofie have disappeared. I suspect they have gone outside to fuck in the cemetery and when they return back inside the venue sheepishly five minutes, I figure I was right. Towards the climax of the set Colchester’s own Fame Academy stereotype indie gimp can be seen rocking out to what generally can/should be considered an average white band.

After the show we find ourselves privy to some hassle as the guy who did the headliners (local band) sound finds himself arguing the toss over eating some chilli earlier in the evening. Its fucking impossible to see/tell what the actual argument is about because the Arts Centre staff (including Staff) seem really calm about the situation while the pseudo-soundman throws a wobbler. It’s a weird argument and only results in Mr Fiery Top being thrown out of the venue by security. Ho ho.

I give Chris and Sofie a lift home, with Chris wanting to sit in the back with her. Am I officially a chauffeur now? I only really kick up a minor stink because my study books are sprawled over the seat and I just know they’d only get sat on if he parked there. The evening ends with a thud and more Run Ronnie Run.

np: Shellac - This Is A Picture


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