October 18th, 2002

fat pony like thunder


Sometimes I almost resent the fact that, on the surface at least, I fit so snugly into a certain type. It kind of annoys me that I actually do like so many of the things that "girls like me" (twenty something middle-class liberal hipster girlie-feminists who like music) are into.

Here are a random selection of the things that you might expect me to like which I really do like:

1: Campers Shoes
2: John Cusack
3: Orla Kiely bags
4: Marc Jacobs clothes
5: Sleater-Kinney
6: Hello Kitty and other weird Japanese stuff
7: The Powerpuff Girls
8: Lili Taylor
9: Films by Wes Anderson and Owen Wilson
10: Monkeys
11: Bust magazine

See, I love all those things but it annoys me that my tastes surprise no one.

So here are the things I really like which don't fit into my obvious "type"...
1: Matthew Sweet albums
2: Rumpole books
3: Comic-book shops
4: David Lodge novels
5: Sabrina the Teenage Witch and Tucker on Nickelodeon

And...um, that's it. Yikes.

God damn it, this is depressing! I can't think of any more slightly unpredictable traits! I really am a stereotype. I must try and develop more arcane intersts. Or at least think of some more of the ones I already have, because my mind is going blank.
  • Current Music
    The Hives. Oh fuck, that's predictable too...
fat pony like thunder

Oh, fucking hell.

I just spent two bloody hours doing my Books in Brief colum, a very boring exercise which involves writing brief summaries of a selection of 'notable' new books that don't get a full book review, and when I went to send it on the editing system to my editor, I discovered that some shit-for-brains had decided to use my computer when I was out this morning and log in to the editing-system as a different user and then not log out again, meaning that when I tried to send the piece to my editor, it wouldn't let me, and...bascially, I lost the entire piece. And I have to write it again. And I am not in the fucking mood.

Especially as one of the books is a demented piece of shit by a crazy IRA man who keeps ringing up my editor every day and harassing her about mentioning his stupid book. I threw it into the bin after I wrote a brief sentence about it and I just had to fish it out again, so it is now covered in sandwich crumbs.

I tried to start the whole thing again, but when I got to that awful 'Ra book I found myself writing "an illiterate terrorist writes a shit play", so maybe I should wait until I calm down a bit.

Fuck. I'm going to have a cigarette.
  • Current Music
    me, grinding my teeth in rage