So, as Whoa Whoa Woe enters its second month of being written, I thought I’d interrupt my more expansive musings with a few personal anecdotes of what I’ve been up to in the past year.
That’s one thing I like about doing a blog. If I was writing for a website or one of those archaic institutions the old media calls a magazine or newspaper, my personal life would be considered a no-go zone. And with good reason—it’s really bloody boring. But I have no editor to reign me in here, so I’ll persist in deluding myself that people give a crap about how I live on a day-to-day basis.
Let’s start winding up the last year. In 2010, I was in a band called Chelsea Star. We were alright, really. A sort of grungy-punky outfit with occasional geetar solos. We split up, sadly. Joey and Rach (possibly also Rich, I dunno), have gone on to form a classic rock band. If I carry on making music, it’ll probably be in a Conor Oberst-esque manner. Chelsea Star sounded a bit like Jawbreaker, so I guess I’m looking for my Jets To Brazil.
This all does, of course, make the assumption that I’ll still be making music. I don’t know if I really want to at this point. Obviously, I’ll remain an avid fan of music, and the camaraderie of being in a band is something I’ll always remember as beautiful, but I’m getting older. One thing 2010 did was make me face up to this. I mean, this year (2011), I’ll graduate. I’ll need to get a job, maybe even a career. It’s probably time to pack up the whole idea of fronting an awesome rock band. I can just sing to myself quietly in my room.
I can still write, which is a bit of a double-edged sword because it’s a constant reminder of what musicians can do that writers can’t (express an inarguable emotion, command a room, get laid, etc). Although I’ve still been writing stories, all my best verse has been lyrical and not poetic (I’ll maintain until death that there’s a fucking difference). To be honest, fuck poetry. Poets are just musicians without enough friends to form a band. I’m aware of the irony.
So, that’s my writing life dealt with. What else went on? Well, a lot of drinking. Is it a problem? No, it doesn’t rule my life. It just makes up a large proportion of it. Most of my social interaction is performed drunk. Mostly because my social interaction generally takes place in bars, clubs and pubs. Just about every event that’s not in uni is in some kind of alcohol-serving venue, and I never see a reason to not drink.
In terms of the kinds of places I go, I’m usually somewhere artsy. For some unknown reason, this pisses me right off. I guess the atmosphere is meant to make people feel elite and cool, like ‘Hey man, we’re underground poets. We’re too awesome for mainstream stuff like everyone else.’ Really, I just feel like a failed musician in a room full of failed musicians. Maybe that’s how Kerouac felt. I dunno. I guess Kerouac was lucky, because there was no Blake Schwarzenbach for him to wish he was.
I made my modelling debut in 2010. I felt conspicuously heterosexual.
I like vintage clothing, and I went to a lot of vintage fairs last year. Kukoo is rad, and anywhere Geek shows, I usually buy a shirt or two. I’m a sucker for vintage Ts. I guess that’s more fuel for the rumour that I was sucked into the present day through a wormhole that opened up at a Promise Ring show in the late nineties. A rumour which I may or may not have started myself. I plan on going to a lot more vintage fairs, and maybe getting to know some of the people involved.
I got tattooed a lot, thanks to Jayne (former Chelsea Star singer, too. Boom!) She’s taking a run at a career in tattooing, and I’m totally up for being a living sketch-pad. It’s permanent, but it doesn’t really matter. I’ll just keep it off my neck, hands and face and I’ll still be employable at most places, thanks to people being less stuffy about individuality in general and tattoos in particular. That’s something that’ll be ongoing until I run out of skin.
I also had a girlfriend for a few months. Sounds kinda sad to say it that way, but while I tend to make-out a lot, steady-steadies are few and far between for me. So, yeah, I had a girlfriend for a while, then it ended. Thinking about it still bums me out, but not so much as realising that my love life works on a kind of eight-month cycle where three months are great and five months are lonely and ripe with the risk of STDs. One of my New Year’s resolutions is to break that cycle, though I’m not sure how I’ll manage that.
Aw, what else? Lessee, music, writing, social … That’s about it. Except my family, or what would have been my ‘home life’, were I still living there. They’re ticking over alright. Joe’s got his A2s this year. He hates me. Helen and Mark are still doing fine. The cat’s still a massive pain in the arse. The rabbit died. He froze to death (or just died of old age, he was a right geriatric ol’ bunny) a few days before Christmas and I buried him. Could’a been worse, I s’pose. The ground could have been frozen too.
So, that’s my wind-up of 2010. I did some other stuff, to but it wasn’t really important, or I forget what it was.
Normal service will be resumed in my next post,
Nick
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