Once again I’m being forced against my will to socialise. What a trauma. Tonight I’ll be rocking my socks off at The Club gay bar in Stoke with my girlfriend (notice my need to state girlfriend), some Uni friends, and a selection of other people I don’t know. It’s not my ideal night out, but the music will definitely be more fun than your average underground hip hop night. (Important note: not a dig at Surreal Knowledge and Tactical Thinking
- they rock. But definitely a dig at the nameless DJ’s playing the same old miserable shouty hip hop, overlooking funky stuff, and then resorting to drum n bass in a desperate attempt to liven up an uninterested half-empty room.) And I would happily put money on it that there will be more women at The Club than at your average cellar hip hop hole. It’s an odd phenomenon, but for some reason women prefer to go where Kylie and Beyonce are played, and where Guilty Simpson and Slaughterhouse are overlooked. That’s strange (or put another way: how queer...). Having said all that; home on my own I’d much rather listen to Wu Tang than J-Lo (remember her; did she die or something?). Give me 36 Chambers any day.
- they rock. But definitely a dig at the nameless DJ’s playing the same old miserable shouty hip hop, overlooking funky stuff, and then resorting to drum n bass in a desperate attempt to liven up an uninterested half-empty room.) And I would happily put money on it that there will be more women at The Club than at your average cellar hip hop hole. It’s an odd phenomenon, but for some reason women prefer to go where Kylie and Beyonce are played, and where Guilty Simpson and Slaughterhouse are overlooked. That’s strange (or put another way: how queer...). Having said all that; home on my own I’d much rather listen to Wu Tang than J-Lo (remember her; did she die or something?). Give me 36 Chambers any day.Right now I’m supposed to be at a barbeque drinking punch and cold beer, eating burnt burgers and sheltering from the intermittent rain. Mentioning punch has just reminded me I forgot to try the Guinness punch at the Caribbean festival last week. I’ve still never tried that: Guinness, raw egg, condensed milk and vanilla, cinnamon or nutmeg. I’ll have to try making that as the next possible excuse arises. I’m not at the barbeque because the car is fucked, but should hopefully be fixed within the hour. As a result I’m writing this and half watching ITV2’s flagship show XTra Factor: Best and Worst (Part 2). It really is must see TV... (in my language “...” represents sarcasm). Most noteworthy thing about it is Holly ‘hulluwullubuy’ Willoughby’s cleavage; great, but not enough information to base a critical appraisal of the show on.
Next random thought: Insert here> I’m bored, and today I hope to spread that boredom to all my readers. Just read that WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange has been accused of rape. I have nothing to say about this other than he looks less like a real human and more like a character played by Chris Morris (here). If I wasn’t such a sceptic I would immediately jump to the conclusion that a conspiracy was unravelling. As it is based on the paucity of evidence available I will reserve judgement. UPDATE: Now he isn’t a suspect. Make you bloody mind up, 24-hour rolling news people.
Prize for the day’s weirdest, most disturbing news story goes to this. Apparently a judge in Saudi Arabia is attempting to impose a sentence of paralysis by severed spine. The accused paralysed another man during a fight, and the judge is pursuing an eye-for-an-eye.
Enough.
No comments:
Post a Comment