James’ Poor Brain

So in we (by which I mean me and my brother) went, to the New College recording studio, guitars dutifully in hand, to record parts of Green Day’s ‘Knowledge’.

It was fun! There was a slight delay whilst I waited for my sister to get the drums right but there is a lot of satsifaction that comes with hearing something you played in excellent quality audio, actually in sync with the other instruments.

I hope to go back there one day, not only because we haven’t actually finished this song but, once sufficient funding has been found, there may be a HCTR EP… watch this space.

Also, I have ultimately decided on taking Music Technology AS level. My mother won’t like it, but hey, thems risks.

In an impressive coinkydink, I had the same conversation today as I did yesterday regarding the relationship between Dorks, Nerds and Geeks, and how they compare.

I shall now explain my theory, via the medium of graphs:

As you can see, Geeks such as myself are superior to the more Star Trek- oriented Nerds and Dorks.

Test yourself! Which are you?

DORKS

Number of comics owned: 50+

Ability to quote sci-fi films/programmes: Excellent

Likelihood of living with parents at age of 40: 80%

Friends: none

Misc: can speak either elfish or klingon.

NERDS

Number of comics owned: 15-49

Ability to quote sci-fi films/programmes: Fair/Good

Likelihood of living with parents at 40: 55%

Friends: other nerds

Misc: Plays with Warhammer of some other kind of strategy game.

GEEKS

Number of comics owned: 0-14

Ability to quote sci-fi films/programmes: Poor

Likelihood of living with parents at 40: 20%

Friends: anyone who isn’t a chav

Misc: has interest in music, uses sarcasm

Sigh. All is quiet in Blogland. Was it something I said? Come back!

Anyway, I’ve recently had a shower and a shave. I’ve never like shaving, hence the fact that I can count the number of times I’ve used my shaver on two hands. And I’ve had it over a year.

I don’t like it because, besides losing something I’m quite fond of (ie. my moustache) it makes my skin go all dry and generally not nice.

Sadly, these grievances is lost on my mum, sister and girlfriend, who, if they had their way, would jump on me with shaving foam and a razor every morning and evening.

Huh! Women! 

Oh dear.

According to the esteemed Muselive website, Muse’s performance at Melbourne’s Big Day Out festival didn’t exactly go to plan…

Muse’s performance last night at Melbourne’s BDO didn’t go as smoothly as possible. Matt ended up throwing his guitar at the tech and walking off quickly at the end of their set.

Better luck next time?

That’ll teach Matt’s guitar tech to be anything less than an equal to the Poetry Roadie! 

Its a migraine.

Seriously, thanks to Ben and walkman phones, that song is on the brink of sending me into a kind of gibbering, twitching state. OTHER SONGS THAT ARE SUITABLE FOR SINGALONGS EXIST.

Sigh. Aside from that, today was very good, plus Dave returned (do you know Dave? I’m pretty sure you do). Hopefully the good times will be repeated tommorow, but in Swindon and with added Jenny. However, the chances of that happeneng are only around 50% and so I may end up just doing coursework.

But at least I’ve finished my Food Tech, so I can put that on my ‘vanquished’ list.

I’ve been on this computer 3 hours 54 minutes and my eyes, head and legs are hurting.

Why have I sat here for said amount of time reading forums and film synopsises, ripping/synching music and watching Snakes On A Plane parodies on YouTube (that reminds me- I MUST see that film, or I can’t repeat a certian Harry Potter joke), you ask- I shan’t say. Need-to-know basis, you understand.

I’m leaving now, not out of choice but out of neccessity, lest my eyes fall out of their sockets. 

It was on just now, and it remeinded me how much I love the sight of a large group of blue spandex-clad soul choir bursting into an average british home singing “YAAAAAAAA YOU SAVE! YAAAAAAAA YOU SAVE!” in ear-splitting falsetto.

Maybe its not the most effective advert ever- I can’t actually remember what the advertised product is, but its funny all the same.

 To be honest, for pure visual panache I prefer the big billboard one to the ones on TV. Maybe you’ve seen them at that railway bridge/roundabout place near the outlet village. The ones witht the choir emerging from a couple’s seemingly bottomless fridge, or when they’re all stood on one of those little pump-things on a train track (you push a bar up and down to make the wheels move. Featured heavily in cartoons) riding alongside a train. The mere sight of them makes me giggle.

I had an idea for a blog a few days ago, in which I would pick apart everything that has to do with mega-famous music magazine NME.

Specifically, their lazy writing, stupid sense of ‘humour’ downright and shoddy journalism (I’d point out their review of Knights of Cydonia here). But the thing that annoys me most is their constant plugging of ‘the next big thing’, which, no matter how unlistenable and intolerable, would feature on at least six pages each issue for abiut 2 months, and then would never be mentioned again. These things include such fads as Arctic Monkeys, Pete Doherty and New-Rave. New-Rave is bascially dance/techno music with shouted, out-of-key lyrics and scratchy guitars. The frontrunners in this pitiful scene were the Klaxons. If you have not heard the Klaxons, count your self lucky.

They are SHIT.

So, imagine my horror when I saw THIS. 

Sure, it might not happen, but that’s what I said to myself about the Noisettes. 

Sigh. This may not be prime blogging material, but I’m a bit annoyed.

For Christmas 2005, I received the most fantasmical pair of jeans. They were, without a doubt, the best thing I’ve put on my legs since those Veet strips. Er, I mean, er…no.

They were so soft, comfortable and perfectly fitting I wore nothing else on my lower body until July. Then, disaster struck around November.

They’d disappeared. Vanished, lost in the depths of a washing basket for a house of 5. It was not until today that I found them again. And they don’t fit.

So that’s the story of how I loved and lost an insultingly expensive (40 freaking quid! Robbery, it is) pair of blue jeans. Hey, I told you it wasn’t prime material.

Recently, a craze so popular it has appeared on Tonight With Trevor Macdonald has been appearing… CSI-bashing.

Apparently, that dastadly CSI and its equally dastardly spinoffs CSI: Miami and CSI: NY have been hynoptising juries with its mad science, greatly exaggerating the limits of forensic investigation, leading to numerous miscarriges of justice.

Pah! I may have got an E in chemistry, but even I know that a lot of the stuff in CSI is greatly exaggerated. Lasers that can read sound waves in clay? DNA tests that take seconds? Of course not. But the lovely people at ITV seem to have forgotten one thing:

ITS CALLED FICTION, NUMBNUTS.

That’s right, a fictional, made-up world where criminal are caught from a partial fingerprint found half a mile away from the scene. Where everyone has sex with everyone else, and where CSIs themselves can go to work with their hair dangling out and no gloves on. But it remains fiction, and damn entertaining fiction at that. If, in real life, someone innocent gets sent to prison because the investigators can’t analyse a life-support machine properly, its their fault, not CSI’s for maling the jury think it always works perfectly. CSI may exaggerate (if they didn’t it would be boring, like Rosemany and Thyme in Las Vegas), but science doesn’t make mistakes. People do. And when they don’t want to admit that, they blame it on something else, such as an immaculately written, produced and acted TV show.

So leave CSI alone, please. It doesn’t mean any harm, and doesn’t cause any either. Its just one of the few original, gripping series out there.