Wednesday, September 14, 2005

Its a small town, and it misses you, my love...
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Why, you may ask, have I included a picture of my bag?

And not one, but three pictures of my arm?
Well, so you can all see what a good little pixie I was today and gave some blood. Hell, its not like I was using it all. My blood is awesome.
My blood pressure is excellent, and it all came out of my arm really well, and filled up the wee bag quickly, and I didn't feel remotely faint afterwards. I have excellent iron levels, and my blood is a fantastic shade of red. Plus, all those poor sods in the south now have the chance for a bit of South Pacific blood in them. That's got to improve anyone's day.
Although, I am exceedingly paranoid now. I filled all the forms in etc, and it was all fine, and then when I get home, my flatmate tells me that the Red Cross called, and would call back tomorrow. They probably tested my blood and found I have three versions of aids and the ebola virus. Great.
I'm not a hypochondriac, I'm an alarmist. Major distinction.

The coolest thing happened today.
You know how sometimes you listen to a song you've heard loads of times before, and it somehow manages to sound different? This morning on my way into university I was listening to the sublime Salmonella Dub at maximum volume, and as seems to be the case when cranking Inside the Dub Plates, "The Bromley East Roller" came on, but somehow it managed to take on a different aspect.
I love drum 'n bass, but this song is different. Perhaps its because the Dub are a bit reggae/dub (there's a clue there...) but while I was rocking along the song seemed to take on another level. It cranks along nicely, and gets ones head nodding and usually a smile on one's dial, but theres that bit where the song seems to recede a bit. You're not quite sure where it is going, perhaps its winding down? Theres a second there where you think perhaps thats your lot, thats all you're going to get, and the song is retreating. And in a way it is retreating, cos it goes all quiet for a bit, and you're left alone with the warped electronic bit, and then it hints slightly that it will be coming back, and you realise that it was not retreating, merely regrouping for another thumping great rogering of your ears and it comes back and gradually gets fatter and fatter until "fat" is not a big enough word, and theres this big fuck-off wall of drum 'n bass that smacks you across the back of the head while managing to lift you clean off your feet and you're walking six inches above the ground and you can barely contain it and just want to shout "Fuck me this is a good tune" and then Tiki comes back and his voice is all electronically distorted but you know its him because you've been hearing his voice for years now so you feel like you know him and he says Watch it, we've only just begun to flow...
As they say in my country, it was choice.

As you may have noticed by now, I have recently discovered that my exceedingly flash camera does sepia tone as well.
Here's me being Not Hung Over.
Its a rare occasion.