Diary of an up and coming sociopath

Hmm. 4 years of blogging. In many ways it seems to have gone pretty fast, but on the other hand, it’s been an utter age. Obviously I got a bit lax updating the personal blog in my old age, but in many other ways I’m blogging more than ever (see sidebar for details!).

Today I spent most of my free time tracking down Kings of Convenience B-Sides, and in particular one tricky bugger which only appeared on a 7″ Vinyl. But I got it, because I’m that good. Ian came over and we watched the Sarah Conner Chronicles (or, as you’re naturally inclined to call it, the Sarah Chronnercles.) It was actually better than it had any right to be, but it did feel like a TV version of T-2. It milked about every reference to the T-2 script that it could’ve hoped to, becoming slightly ridiculous in the process, but what the hell, with no other new TV around, it’s worth a watch. And frankly, it still looks like it’ll make a better sequel than Terminator 3.

On Saturday, Nikki and I met up with Seb and Rachel and went to TGI for dinner, only to find there was a 90 minute wait due to “problems with the kitchen” so we went to the other TGI in Covent Garden, which we managed to find with minimal fuss thanks to my general sense of direction, and Seb’s gmail-based phone. A bitter and jaded employee explained his horrible job to us, with particular emphasis on how he hates having to tell the stories behind their wall-hangings to entertain the children, which was amusing, but afterwards Josh suggested that him telling us that was merely a similar form of entertainment, just aimed at jaded Generation Y losers like us instead of the kids.

Now I feel stupid that we tipped him so generously.

After that, we were on our way up to meet McKelvie when we ran into him in the street, as he was attempting to meet up with someone - anyone - as he had arranged, then we headed to Lock 17 to join the other few who had managed to collect in the same place. For the duration of the evening, the world’s worst DJ presided over conversation. Roughly 4 hours in, he finally played a remix of Rock the Casbah, marking the first song that was recognisable by anyone who didn’t have a masters degree in breakbeats. The seating was excellent, though. Being on a leather sofa in a pub reminded me of being back home. Not that we ever got to sit on the sofas back home, but the thought was there.

One week prior to that, I did the unthinkable and got up EARLY on a Saturday to go to a Brian Wood signing. I usually try not to hang around too long at these things, but managed to have a nice chat without going all freakout on him. I got him to sign a bunch of my favourite comics, and he seemed impressed when he checked my Channel Zero TPB and found it was a first printing, so I told him my story about how I found it in a box beneath a table at a comic convention shortly after it came out, and it cost me a fiver. I was specifically looking for alternative comics at the time, because I was still a super-hero obsessed greenhorn and trying to break out of the mold. Reading it on the way back home on the train, it instantly became one of my favourite books, and Wood one of my favourite writers. Channel Zero expanded my mind, both politically, and in regards to what a comic can do. I couldn’t look inside the bag until I bought it, so as it turns out, you CAN judge a book by its cover. Especially if you read the helpful blurb on the back. Who knows what other generally accepted wisdom is complete bullshit? Tomorrow, I’m going to Forbidden Planet and I’ll investigate whether a fool and his money are soon parted. Will report back.