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It's been a week since I arrived in London.  I've used these past days to say goodbye to this city and friends that I love so much. I fly back to Brasil on Friday... I have no clue when I'll be back in the UK.

My good friend [ profile] live_life_like  started this journal in Brasil in May 2001 as a way of keeping in touch with myself and another friend we had in common. Thus the name. In September that year, a week after 9/11, I left Brasil and moved to London with my boyfriend to start a new life.

This journal has been a great place to inhabit during my 12 years in London.  I survived many dull temp jobs thanks to it, and met tons of people who went on to become close friends. I'd like to one day sit down and read through it - there have been some dramatic posts and some epic flamewars!

This journal will come to an end when I fly to Brasil on Friday. It brings to an end my 12 years in London.

Here's to whatever comes next!
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I'm about to go on holiday! I've taken a week off though I'm not sure if I'm going anywhere. I'm definitely not getting in a plane as my boyfriend really doesn't like them (neither do I, to be honest.)

What I'm sure: I'll be off email, social networks and my mobile phone for the whole time. I want a complete digital break (though I reserve the right to playing a bit of Wii if I get bored of my books and letter writing!)

The last time I went off the grid was during a week in Crete a few years ago with [ profile] king_prawn [ profile] neenaw and [ profile] wink_martindale It was momentarily interrupted when NeeNaw's mom called to announce Wacko Jacko had died.

What to do with my spare time? Day trips outside of London? Horror and sci-fi novels? The local pool? Zombies, Run? Sleep? Creative Writing? Perhaps a few nights in a B&B? Art exhibitions?

Going with the flow.
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Baby swim by Eythor
Baby swim, a photo by Eythor on Flickr.
I went swimming today and it was just as good as last week. 1pm on Sundays are the ideal time: lessons are finished and extra lanes are opened for free swimming; however, most people are either hung over or sleeping in, so the lanes tend to be empty!

I was spoiled when I learned to swim in Brasil. I was taught in an Olympic pool that was pristine and well-tended, with round-the-clock coaches happy to give you exercises and tips. You always had a lane to yourself.

Here in the UK, on the other hand, you have to share lanes usually with about 4 other people (optimistic outlook.) And at least 2 of them are in the wrong lane (should be in a slower one.) Plus, the pools are quite grim (just ask [ profile] steer about the one we use in Bethnal Green) and the pool staff couldn't care less. I actually think most can't even swim - would hate to put my life in their hands if I suddenly had a cramp and sunk to the bottom...

But whatever... I have this hour on Sundays and I will try to stick to it. Feels good to let my thoughts wander and just go and go and go.

My boyfriend is currently in the kitchen, making cookies. In 11 minutes I'm going to embark on an hour-long writing session.
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Walt Whitman by Marion Doss
Walt Whitman, a photo by Marion Doss on Flickr.
I bought a copy of Walt Whitman's poems before yesterday because I've been wanting to revisit Leaves of Grass after hearing him mentioned in My Dinner With Andre. I read Whitman in university and seem to remember my professor not liking him too much; I was a fan though.

I found his poetry collection in that second hand bookshop just by Waitrose in Bloomsbury (the one you go down steps and it's like a Borgean maze of dusty classics.) The book was on the floor, at the top of a poetry pile, waiting for me. £3.

My Dinner With Andre has also made me think/notice about people choosing to dress like what they think they are. I.e. terrorists look like terrorists, designers look like designers, hipsters look like hipsters, bankers look like bankers. We (unconsciously?) try to fit into the stereotype of what we think we should be or look like. Have you noticed? Just watch the news and you'll see confirmation of that.

Who am I? Whom do I look like? I see pictures of myself from 5, 6 years ago and realise how gray my hair has become.

I've also been this week to a launch party by a famous British rapper, and written a letter to a famous dancer (now retired) asking if she'd like me to teach her how to use emails and the internet.

Yesterday, I witnessed two women getting into a fight at the bus stop outside Westfield Stratford. One of them was wearing a hijab and looked Somalian; she was sitting down beside three white British women when she suddenly broke into a loud, angry rant. She accused them of making remarks about her hijab and called them some bad words. Everyone looked at her as if she was mentally ill. A few minutes later, she made a phone call and, during it, began to make offensive comments about the women again. One of them couldn't take it any longer and shouted back: how dare you be racist to me? Somalian lady replied that no British woman shouted at her, which only made the other one shout louder.

An elderly man (muslim as well) tried to calm things as well as the British woman's daughter, but in vain. I saw a policeman walking towards us and made gestures at the daughter that the police was coming. When she understood she tried to stop her mom, but by now there was no stopping that verbal war. More police arrived and the Somalian woman tried to leave. But the police were having none of it - they wanted an explanation as to what was going on. Now Somalian lady looked meek and perhaps aware she was in deep shit (witnesses were also not being allowed to leave - perhaps because it was a suspected racial incident?) I picked up my shopping bags and quickly made a getaway for the Tube.

Later, on my way to friends for a Twin Peaks Marathon, I saw police cars and firetrucks outside my building. People were looking up at the tower block next to ours... one of the flats was on fire.

This morning, I'm debuting a new pair of glasses I bought at Westfield Stratford. The world looks wonky and 3Dish. I can see all the lines on my pale face and I feel even more old.
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The Secret GardenThe Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This is probably one of the best children books ever written. It starts out like it means to be a high gothic drama, with spoiled little Mary losing her family in India and being sent to live with distant relatives in a dark and cold mansion on the Yorkshire moors. She's left to her own devises in the large house because nobody has time for her - especially not the serious and remote Lord of the house - and soon she's hearing strange cries in the night from one of the bedrooms. But all of this is just suspense wisely used to hook the reader. It's when she meets the gardner and starts spending more time outdoors (something she never did in India) that sun literally pours in and the book turns into a homage to Yorkshire's beauty.

There's a particular garden on the grounds that nobody has been inside for ten years - a secret garden that doesn't even have a visible door anymore. Mary discovers its entrance with the help of a bird and soon she's enlisted a local boy (who talks to animals and smokes pipes) to help her clear it.

I felt as happy finishing this read as I did when reading Pride and Prejudice. Only I now have a really strong desire to get back into gardening!

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Homage to Zenith by
Homage to Zenith, a photo by on Flickr.
Friday night, 14th September. French coastal town St-Malo.
Families and couples sitting down for dinner. Casual and sophisticated styles on display, elderly tourists strolling down empty streets. Chefs by the doors of their restaurants, having a cigarette and exchanging a friendly word with neighbours. The cathedral's tower looming above all. Teenagers in the town's Irish pub, red-cheeked and bobbing to Red Hot Chilli Pepper.

Me to my boyfriend: I like it here - I like France - but there's something oppressive about the culture. Either you conform or you stick out and have no friends. I love that there are so many bookshops in such a small town but - still - I'm not sure I could live in France.

Saturday night, 15th September. English coastal town Portsmouth.
Drunken men chanting slogans and boasting that they'll be kicked off the train. Group of women in miniature attire screeching at each other, dressed like Hooters waitresses for a hen party. Group of teenage girls also in miniature attire harmonising to "it's getting hot in here, so let's take off all our clothes." Kebab and chips wrappers on the streets, paint peeling off most walls. Wide-eyed tourists hailing taxis. Boarded up buildings facing the marina.

Me to my boyfriend: Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to live in France.
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After getting some new bespoke running shoes at Runner's Needs (thank you [ profile] sparklielizard for the tip!) I've become a regular jogger in Victoria Park. I like to go in the mornings, with my iShuffle plugged in (dangling from some very expensive, neon Adidas running earphones I also got at the shop). I do one full circuit of the park - the equivalent of 5K - then follow it up with two days at the gym doing weight training.

Yesterday morning I noticed a group of short, skinny people doing sprints in the park... Olympic athletes! They were from Rwanda, I learnt later. Apparently they didn't feel like practicing in the Olympic stadium and asked if there were any nearby parks they could use. Victoria Park was the suggestion. I hope they enjoyed it as much as I do.

This London Olympics, which felt very British when it was first announced, has become progressively more "American" as the years have gone by (and especially under the Tories.) Do we really need the biggest McDonalds in Europe built right inside the Olympic park? With a ban on nearby businesses from selling french fries because McDonals has the sole permission to sell it? It's the next best thing to having a giant American flag waving in everyone's face. And by "American" I mean in this context profit-over-commonsense - that neoliberal idiocy that businesses ultimately choose what's best for everyone.

Still, despite all the weird stories surrounding the Olympics (from slum conditions for cleaners living near the park to graffiti artists being arrested), I felt a thrill of excitement at suddenly being so near to Olympic athletes in Victoria Park. My dance company is also involved - we performed as part of the Olympic Torch relay through London and many of our dancers are part of the opening and closing ceremonies.

On McDonalds related news, HBO Documentaries has made available online its recent "Weight of the Nation" series. You can check it out on YouTube. It's in 4 parts and quite compelling viewing, especially if you also recently saw the BBC's "The Man Who Made Us Fat". The series is often mawkish but has some eye-popping figures and graphs. It's made me go off soda drinks for life.
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LyonesseLyonesse by Jack Vance

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I first read Lyonesse as a teenager and immediately fell in love with it. Sure, there were some minor plot holes - especially as the story moved through the trilogy of the same name - but its overall charm won in the end. Then, a few years later in university, I tried reading it again and thought it was a terrible misogynistic creation - to the point where I took the whole trilogy to a nearby charity shop and gave it away.

Seventeen years later and I was tempted to revisit the series again and find out why I'd loved it in the first place, and if the misogyny was really so bad. What I discovered was a world firmly in the mold of Angela Carter's fairy tales - the bite and sting from fairies and trolls casually sitting beside the evil committed by kings and queens. Not only that but some of Chaucer's ribaldry too. Stories definitely not meant for children. It's been a reminder for me of how important it is to revisit loved books: the stories never remain the same - we see them through different eyes as we grow older.

G.R.R. Martin took, no doubt, a lot of inspiration from Lyonesse for his A Song of Ice and Fire series - the geography of both worlds is similar as well as its intrigues, horrors, tragic love stories and magic. Lyonesse, however, is an expansion on the Arthurian legend which gives Vance more scope to play with motifs such as early Christianity (one of the biggest horrors in the book is the building of a chapel in a beautiful and remote garden.) G.R.R. Martin must have also taken note of the major plot twist in this novel that takes all readers by surprise which raises the novel above others in the fantasy genre.

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Crusoe: Daniel Defoe, Robert Knox, and the Creation of a MythCrusoe: Daniel Defoe, Robert Knox, and the Creation of a Myth by Katherine Frank

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

This is the perfect companion read to Daniel Defoe's Robinson Crusoe. In it, Katherine Frank lays down her theory that Defoe's most famous creation was lifted from the memoirs of Robert Knox - one of Defoe's contemporaries. As a 19-year-old, Knox and his father took to the sea for trade on an East India Company ship only to find themselves imprisoned by the King of Kandy in Ceylon. For the next twenty years, Knox saw his father die, adopted a local child as his own and learned to live amongst Ceylon's people while always yearning to one day escape and return to England.

The first half of the book is a great read, going through Defoe's life in London and his constant struggles with bankruptcy and the law as well as Knox's life on Ceylon and his eventual escape. The second half drags a little when Katherine Frank goes into these men's successes and disappointments later in life. Descriptions of life in Hackney at the start of the 18th Century as well as the great English storm of 1703 (that fascinated both men) add to the enjoyment of this book as well as Frank's thoughts on how Crusoe eventually became a myth in our culture.

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Robinson CrusoeRobinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

It's hard to believe this is the first novel in the English language. It still feels very modern - to the point where I wondered how much of it was plundered by the writers of the TV show LOST. It was also the first book I ever read on an ebook, which I thought was nicely symmetrical.

A young sailor and adventurer ends up on a deserted island after a storm catches his boat as he returns to England from "the Brazils". He's already an experienced adventurer by this stage - having escaped captivity in Africa as a young man, set up his own plantation in South America and crossed the Atlantic Ocean a few times. After a dose of initial good luck (his shipwrecked boat is not too far in the water and he can salvage quite a few useful items), he settles down to survival and exploration of the island.

It's written as a memoir, probably based on the real experiences of a sailor in the 1600s. Because the voice is so convincing and attentive to the details of the experience, suspense is notched up and intensified as one obstacle after another appears in Crusoe's life. (Did Defoe invent the Adventure Genre?) It's also a fascinating read if you put on your post-colonial/queer lit glasses: Crusoe goes into some length about the slave trade and the differences between Africans and natives in the Americas; and he also develops a passionate and intense love for a captive he saves - Friday - that stands at odds with his complete lack of mention or desire for any women. Well, after more than twenty years on a deserted island, would you say no to a young, beautiful man whose life you save and who worships you? (This could be, though, Defoe's way of also reflecting the very well known habit of sailors having love affairs with other men because of so much time spent without any women around.)

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I'm feeling stressed at the moment with work - pulled in too many directions (given too many tasks) - and not feeling as if I'm doing any of them well. I'll be up North again this week, on a day trip similar to last Friday's. A lot of time spent in trains. People are a bit scary in the small towns but the green hills are adorable though.

I've been going to the gym in the mornings these past few weeks. I've got tickets to see Porcelain Raft, Veronica Falls, Babel (some giant secret event in Islington in May - #secreteventsfatigue) and my lovely Lovebox in June. I'm still reading "Robinson Crusoe" and enjoying the anachronistic gay subtext.

I'm now lying on the sofa with a belly full of chicken and mushroom soup, listening to the 10,000 songs on my iTunes on shuffle.

Have a good night!

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.

Bleak 70s

Feb. 5th, 2012 08:19 pm
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Nineteen Seventy FourNineteen Seventy Four by David Peace

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

David Peace's debut crime novel starts out fantastically well, with an unlikeable young journalist entering the investigation of the disappearance and murder of a 10-year-old girl that may be connected to other missing children cases. Leeds' dreariness towards the end of 1974 is perfectly set up for this noir that borrows from Irvine Welsh's style and taste for the brutal (violence and humor), peopled by corrupt cops, drunk journalists and thoroughly miserable denizens.

So it's a big disappointment when Peace loses it all towards the end, with an entire section set in prison that reads like bad creative writing 101, plus an unbelievable and badly-explained resolution that comes across (to me at least) as Peace not knowing where he was going with his story. Peace is also not very good at shifting gears throughout the novel, introducing fast-paced action very awkwardly into scenes - almost as if he were already thinking of the story as a film/TV adaptation.

Still, it was a mostly enjoyable, atmospheric crime read that made me wonder if the storytelling improves in Peace's sequels (this is the first part of the Red Riding quartet.)

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Sob Story

Jan. 29th, 2012 04:06 pm
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Oliver TwistOliver Twist by Charles Dickens

My rating: 2 of 5 stars

I heard a critic once compare Stephen King and Jackie Collins to Charles Dickens. This critic wondered which of today's current popular authors would survive the centuries and still be read in the future. I didn't understand the comparison at the time because in my mind Jackie and Stephen appeal to people who want a quick thrill without the danger of having to think too hard. I thought Dickens' novels were classic because there was more to them than their soap opera plot lines. But this was before I read my first Charles Dickens novel - this one.

The sentimentality in this novel is so sickly sweet that it's very hard for a modern reader to sympathise with Oliver or any of the other heroes. All the children in the story, including Oliver, are little men in thoughts, words and looks - even down to the original illustrations by George Cruikshank. This is more believable in the Artful Dodger and his gang because they live very adult lives as thieves on London's streets, but with Oliver it comes across as a pleading, whiny, goody goody personality that grates.

My boyfriend pointed out how all productions of Oliver Twist throughout the years have tried to invest some humanity into Fagin, some light. There's none of that in the original creation - he's a repellent villain with no redeeming features. But does that mean that Dickens was antisemitic? Some of the Christian characters are evil too (especially the ones entrusted with orphan children) but at least they are counterbalanced by the goodhearted ones that save Oliver. The Jews that work with Fagin though are just as evil as him, which is a problem in the novel I think.

Dickens used Oliver Twist to raise public awareness of exploited children in his time and even went on to defend the creation of asylums for prostitutes (thus the reason for Nancy's existence in the novel.) I've also heard that Dickens loved walking around London and it was through these walks that he conjured his stories. This comes through beautifully in the novel and is its saving grace - the city's riches and poverty are perfectly captured by his prose.

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The Little StrangerThe Little Stranger by Sarah Waters

My rating: 2 of 5 stars

What a disappointment this was. All the elements for a good ghost story are there: a decaying grand house, a cast of characters with varying damaged psyches, a perfectly described England post-World War II, and a series of paranormal events that get progressively worse. So what went wrong? I think Waters chose to stretch what could have been a great short story or novella into a novel with too much padding. With ghost stories, either you get it right or you get it wrong, there is no middle ground: the suspense has to be just right, the build up carefully leading the reader to a dénouement. Any padding on the way that makes you put down the book and do something else dispels the creepiness, unlatches the trap, blows away the mists.

But the novel isn't a complete failure: there's a very subtle and enjoyable nod to Shirley Jackson's "Haunt of Hill House" in the character of Caroline, a "spinster" with modern views on how a woman should lead her life; and the novel does have a great ending that brings the story full circle to its first pages. Waters is very good at bringing to period romances a touch of the unexplored, queer and even kitschy. That quality is absent here, apart from a few eggy paranormal scenes that do very little to bring the reader back into the story.

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commonpeople1: (March of the Dead)
A Game of Thrones (A Song of Ice and Fire, #1)A Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

If I were teaching a class on how to write a bestselling paperback, I'd recommend this novel to my students. These are the basics: each chapter must focus on a scene that is highly dramatic and that somehow causes a reversal on the story, creating further problems for the protagonist(s). Obstacles get progressively harder until the climax somewhere towards the end of the novel. Bits of sex here and there. Bits of cruelty towards the protagonists. Good looking villains; grotesque villains. Then an open-ended finale that will make your readers need to buy the next five or six installments of your series.

A Game of Thrones has a huge cast of characters based in a fantasy world somewhat resembling medieval Britain, an island divided by different cultures and loosely held together by a king. It's a little difficult at times to remember who is who: is Varys the eunuch, or is that Verys? And is Ser Loran the Knight of Flowers, or is that Ser Leran? It's a land very similar to a thousand fantasy novels written before or since, with a handy map on the first page and an adherence to certain rules of the genre. The one way it differs from other fantasy novels is its focus on intrigue and human relationships, and the near absence of magic and fantastical creatures.

The first 1/3 of the novel were disappointing. The language was a bit undercooked, clichéd. It wasn't clear whether Martin was aiming for anyone other than 14-year-old boys. The story then picked up speed and some of the more interesting characters, like the dwarf Tyrion, took centre stage. The Seven Kingdoms, with its incestuous rulers, pre-teen brides and buckets of gore suddenly became a darker, harder place to resist.

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commonpeople1: (George O'Brien)
Brighton RockBrighton Rock by Graham Greene

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

No wonder Morrissey loves this novel and quotes from it in many songs: it's pure English misery from cover to cover, with no redemption or ray of light. Brighton is the setting and just like the doomed seaside town in "Everyday Is Like Sunday"; the young teenage couple at its centre are like the loved and lost in "Unhappy Birthday"; and the gang of small time crooks - Dallow, Spicer, Pinky and Cubitt - are the rain-coated puny brothers in "Now My Heart is Full".

The novel is full of atmosphere and brilliant writing. You have to read it slowly to appreciate Greene's use of punctuation and the images he conjures in castway sentences. I loved the ray of light landing on a Woolworth's ring, and the Boots store not too far from the empty pier where drunks go at night to feel sentimental. I loved the various dark basements and the characters stuck in them: the mole-like wife of a corrupt lawyer, the blind dressmaker cuckold by his wife and a tenant, the cold stove never lit because breakfast is often beer and a purchased sausage roll.

The small-time gang get embroiled in the murder of a journalist which slowly spirals out of their control, especially when a busty lady called Ida decides to make it her mission to figure out the truth. Ida loves life and won't mind a quick shag with any man before her pint of Guinness while Pinky, the leader of the gang, is all virginal, Catholic guilt (a prototype to Morrissey's asexuality?) Caught in the middle is Rose, a mousy-haired waitress who knows too much about the journalist's death. You just know from the beginning that it's not going to end well.

Published in the late 30s, it captures an England that no longer exists and that is worth visiting. I haven't seen the two films based on it but I hear the one from the 40s is very good.

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commonpeople1: (George O'Brien)
The English Ghost: Spectres Through Time

Peter Ackroyd, The English Ghost: Spectres Through Time, 2010
This is a short and enjoyable collection of diary entries, newspaper clippings, anecdotes and oral stories revolving around ghost sightings in England. The English are, apparently, the people who most see hauntings and Ackroyd goes some way to explain this in his introduction. Still, I wish there was more meat to these bones: many of the anecdotes deserved some commentary or notes, and quite a few didn't really stand out. Some of the sightings are clearly from people with a strong imagination. Others are hard to explain away, especially the ones with more than two witnesses.

Ghost sightings are in decline and this collection made me wonder if our increasily atomised lifestyle has something to do with it. Can you really notice a ghost if you are so caught up with your Nintendo DS or iPod? Another thing that struck me about the very old sightings was that people seemed to be hearing ghosts from the future instead of the past (i.e. the sound of a crowd trampling through a Victorian sitting room reminded me of a group of tourists which would visit that sort of house a few centuries later.) My favourite anecdotes in this collection: a woman who becomes unnerved by a young man who shares her train carriage and the poor bastard who is chased by a figure in black that then proceeds to scratch hay bails.
commonpeople1: (Bookclub)
C.J. Sansom's Dissolution

C.J. Sansom, Dissolution, 2010
The pages of this novel open at the start of the English Reformation, when Thomas Cromwell, in behalf of King Henry, began to smoke out papists by dissolving all monasteries (a few years after Anny Boleyn's execution). When one of Cromwell's commissioners is found beheaded in a remote monastery, Cromwell hires hunchback lawyer Matthew Shardlake to investigate and catch the culprit before news gets out and papist passions are stirred across the land. There are two problems though: Matthew Shardlake ain't no Poirot and C.J. Sansom ain't no Hilary Mantel.

I can't imagine anything harder than a historical novel which is also a murder mystery. Not only do you need to develop an intriguing plot that delivers a bona fide mystery but you must get all the historical information right. Dissolution quickly gives away its murderer through poorly placed red herrings, then stumbles on a few historical inaccuracies - the most glaring for me being an English sailor mentioning to Shardlake shipment of slaves to the Americas nearly two decades before the birth of Portugal's slave trade. Another inaccuracy that nagged me was the use of the word bully in its modern context; I researched and it turns out that it meant "lover" at the time and not someone who intimidates others.

Otherwise, it's a pleasant enough read with enough corpses popping up here and there until the predictable conclusion. Since this is the first of a fairly popular detective series, I'm hoping the follow ups are better written. I'm probably better off though re-reading the infinitely superior The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco.
commonpeople1: (Swim Kiss)

[Poll #1652935]

Ginger beauty is highly underrated. I didn't know anyone ginger growing up in Brasil so it was a bit of a novelty meeting so many when I moved to England (especially through LJ). Yes, yes, "many of my closest friends are ginger," etc. I always flinch when I hear a prejudiced comment against anyone with red hair so I hope this post will go some way in changing people's perceptions of how hot ginger (guys in this case) can be.

This post is mostly dedicated to [ profile] the_meanest_cat, who started a chat with me in [ profile] moral_vacuum's journal about how ginger men - Mick Hucknall notwithstanding - are quite attractive.

Feel free to add more names and pictures in the comments section. Have I left anyone out other than Prince Harry? (Who I decided not to include thanks to off putting photos on Google Image).

Gingers Ahoy! )


Sep. 3rd, 2010 01:17 pm
commonpeople1: (Schiele)
Lloyd Cole Writers Retreat!

Lloyd Cole, Writers Retreat!, August 2010
Lloyd's self-absorbed wife has gone off to a writers retreat, where she'll probably write about things she doesn't know about, like heart ache and abandoment. Little does she know that when she gets back home, Lloyd won't be there waiting for her - he's had enough and he's ready to give her a bit of raw material for her next novel. This single - which has Radio 2 written all over it - reminds me of the Magnetic Fields' more straight forward songs and is a sort of companion to Tracey Thorn's recent "Oh, the Divorces!" single. (Why the exclamation marks, Tracey and Lloyd?) Now we only need Morrissey to release a song on the pains of mortgage payments for the maturement of 80s English indie idols to be complete. The B-side, Inverse Midas Touch, goes a bit further into Writers Retreat! alt-country flavour.

// Buy the single

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