Sometimes there isn't much to say - 12 Days

One thing that may hinder my getting on with the Americans is my relative quietness compared to them. OK Americans are stereotypically loud anyway, and us Brits are known for being a wee bit more reserved, but I'm generally on the quiet side even for a Scotsman.  I'm not shy or nervous, and don't have a lack of things to say. I have a shitload of opinions about everything. I'm just really not that fussed about talking a lot of the time. Quiet is nice. I also like thinking a lot, just not clever type thinking, I usually just do that when I get paid for it. 

I really am only writing about this subject because I have fuck all to blog about today. As with this here blog, when I do talk it tends to be bollocks, and a lot of it.  I got my birthday out of the way with no issues, and the day after is nearly done, so that only leaves 12 days of potential screw up. 

A plane nearly crashed in Singapore today, and someone asked me if that worried me, totally distracting me from trying to figure out if I'd seen the girl from Black Sheep somewhere before(the killer sheep movie, not the Spade/Farley one), imdb didn't throw anything up, so I guess she just looks like someone, which means there's no chance of figuring it out since I'm not really good with faces, I worry that I'll walk past people I know in the street because I forgot what they look like. I'd find them if I was looking for them though. 

Sorry Kevin

I'm so much worse with names, I used to speak to a colleague every day about stuff, and the fact he used to play cricket for my team back in the day. It took me about four years to figure out his name. It was kind of embarrassing asking another colleague who he was, when most of the time they saw the guy he was talking to me. I did try going through the cricket club archives to no avail. His name was Kevin, fuck knows what he looks like. That reminds me of someone who constantly called me John, despite being one of few Colin's in the organisation, and definitely the only one in the office. I even had people shout across the office at me when she was there, hoping it would click. The kind of thing Kevin should really have done for me really. Didn't work though.

She reminded me of the dizzy mum in Shaun of the Dead, a great movie, but I wish less people would like it. I was there from Big Train and Spaced and the one where he did a magazine and the guy Serafinowicz was a baddie in it. I figure it may be better to like popular shit after it's popular, and maybe everyone will piss off. 

I have to say, the Bee Gees song that came on was cheese perfection, for whom the bell tolls, if the first guitar refrain doesn't make you smile then you have no soul, not soul as in Aretha Franklin, an actual soul, you are just a shell of a Bee Gee hating nothing. Cheesy music has it's place, and it's mainly on my mp3 player. Many a morning I'd fill my two mile walk to work with 'bat out of hell', 'party hard', 'dead or alive', and 'you win again', sometimes even wondering how I would arrange the track if I was playing it live as a tribute to the artist who died just that day, which is nearly as good as picking out a random suit on the train and imaging them fronting the video for whatever song comes on next. 'Closer' always gets a good reaction. Another good thing is looking out the bus/train/car window, and imagining the next song is the first song in a movie, fading in from the opening credits, then cast everyone you see in the movie,  and then when you stop imagine how shit everything is compared to the movie plot you just dreamt up. I've never gotten round to dancing or singing with my headphones on though, anytime I see someone do that I think they must be really happy, but most probably just mental.

Not having a guitar for a while after I move is going to be a bitch. I'm not even that good at playing it, but if I close my eyes I can imagine that someone else is playing that shit and I don't feel so bad.

It's my last Friday of work tomorrow, and in four days I can say I'm moving next week.