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terryfrost at 11:46am on 31/12/2006
terryfrost at 11:46am on 31/12/2006Got a sinus headache that you could see on Google Earth at the moment, so I'm not going to the gym until 2007. Bugger it. In the background, I've got The Last Night Of The Proms on television. My annual bit of high culture, if you don't count occasionally listening to Debussy's "Golliwog's Cake Walk" on my mp3 player. They're doing a lot of Rodgers and Hart this year, which isn't a bad thing. Most modern "songwriters" could do worse than be locked in a room for 24 hours with Ella Fitzgerald singing the R&H songbook playing at them, after which there'd be a written test on what an internal rhyme is, why it's a bad thing write songs where the words only vaguely and occasionally rhyme, and which pit of hell female "divas" who oversing should be consigned to and how much money it would rake in as a pay-per-view event.
I've had my mp3 player for a week now, and I love it. I have rechargable AAA batteries for it, and so I can wander the leafy boulevardes of Mexico City listening to a playlist ranging from "Bad Babysitter" by Princess Superstar to Johnny Hartman and John Coltrane doing "Autumn Serenade", Curtis Mayfield's "Pusherman" and the theme from "Stingray", which reminds me of Steve Irwin for some reason. This is all much preferable to listening to the banal crap playing in the stores of the CBD; a cacophany of oversinging twits with botoxed foreheads that make them resemble the aliens of the week from randomly chosen episodes of STAR TREK:TNG. An mp3 player coccoons me in an aural comfort zone of nostalgia and optimised input. Having my own music is a mood-elevator. I can't recommend it highly enough.
At the moment, I'm self medicating on sulawesi kalosi coffee and a bottle of Flaschengeist liqueur that my sister Linda gave me for Xmas. The bottle is shaped like a female torso with the bum canted slightly to one side in a saucy way. The liqueur is a combination of cognac and walnuts and it's as smooth as Johnny Hartmann singing "Autumn Serenade".
Off to lay on the couch watching Jason King episodes. Seeya next year, may it be a surprising and delighting one for you all.
I've had my mp3 player for a week now, and I love it. I have rechargable AAA batteries for it, and so I can wander the leafy boulevardes of Mexico City listening to a playlist ranging from "Bad Babysitter" by Princess Superstar to Johnny Hartman and John Coltrane doing "Autumn Serenade", Curtis Mayfield's "Pusherman" and the theme from "Stingray", which reminds me of Steve Irwin for some reason. This is all much preferable to listening to the banal crap playing in the stores of the CBD; a cacophany of oversinging twits with botoxed foreheads that make them resemble the aliens of the week from randomly chosen episodes of STAR TREK:TNG. An mp3 player coccoons me in an aural comfort zone of nostalgia and optimised input. Having my own music is a mood-elevator. I can't recommend it highly enough.
At the moment, I'm self medicating on sulawesi kalosi coffee and a bottle of Flaschengeist liqueur that my sister Linda gave me for Xmas. The bottle is shaped like a female torso with the bum canted slightly to one side in a saucy way. The liqueur is a combination of cognac and walnuts and it's as smooth as Johnny Hartmann singing "Autumn Serenade".
Off to lay on the couch watching Jason King episodes. Seeya next year, may it be a surprising and delighting one for you all.
sick
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