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To Be Young

5th September, 2006. 12:27 am. Upset by the loss of Steve Irwin

I dont care if a million people have already left a little note on the passing of Steve Irwin, but I completely thought he was amazing, not in some pseudo-ironic sort of way, but genuinely, so I'm going to leave one too.

He was charismatic, funny, entertaining, and most importantly dedicated to and loved animals and nature; a real role model for the generation who have lost touch with the fact that there is actually a real (and far more exciting) world out there beyond the confines of your four bedroom walls and the interweb.

Despite all the trappings of celebrity, there was something carnal about Irwin's passion for his work that went beyond mere showmanship for the camera's. There was a real desire for adventure and knowledge, with genuine hope that he was (and would eventually succeed in) educating the world in a breathtaking way.

My favourite memory of Steve Irwin was an episode in which he was hiding up a tree, surrounded by komodo dragons, after having cut his leg open on a rock or something. Shouting to the camera crew, he said something along the lines of "Crikey!They've got a taste for my blood and aint gonna go away till they get it. If I dont make a run for it through them now, in a few days they'll get tired of waiting and eat me from up here." At which point he just legged it through these things which could just rip the shit out of a normal human. And them things were fucking fast too. That desire to live and enjoy all the pleasures and thrills the natural world has conjured makes his passing all the more tragic.

He was a person who knew what he believed in and lived for, something that I'm not sure I can say for myself, and doubt that many people reading this can say about themselves either.

So yeah, bye Steve. You really were the best.

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14th August, 2006. 9:28 pm. The Soundtrack To My Life

Discuss, and leave your own ones. Im not bearing my soul just for your entertainment. I want insight damn it!

Your Life: The Soundtrack
Opening credits:Wake Up - Arcade Fire
Waking up:Sunday Morning - The Velvet Underground and Nico
Average day:Everyday is Like Sunday - Morissey
First date:Stepney Green - Kinesthesia
Falling in love:Be My Baby - The Ronnettes
Love scene:A Life Less Ordinary - Ash
Fight scene:Promises, Promises - The Cooper Temple Clause
Breaking up:I Know Its Over - The Smiths
Getting back together:Do You Realize? - Flaming Lips
Secret love:If I Could Talk I'd Tell You - The Lemonheads
Life's okay:Time - Marion
Mental breakdown:Migrate Migraine- 80's Matchbox B-Line Disaster
Driving:I Drove All Night - Roy Orbison
Learning a lesson:A Praise Chorus - Jimmy Eat World
Deep thought:La Femme d'Argent - Air
Flashback:Unchained Melody - Righteous Brothers
Partying:I Get Along - The Libertines
Happy dance:X Offender - Blondie
Regreting:This Is Yesterday - Manic Street Preachers
Long night alone:Sometimes- My Bloody Valentine
Death scene:Atmosphere - Joy Division
Closing credits:Just Like Honey - Jesus and Mary Chain
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12th July, 2006. 7:53 pm. SAY IT AINT SO! WEEZER SPLIT!

To be fair, “Make Believe” was a terrible album and “Beverly Hills” is an unforgivably bad song.

But when you hear the bridge to “Say It Aint So” that’s just what pop music’s all about. The “Green Album” was the first record I ever owned that was mine and actually belonged to me and me only. I remember watching it sitting alone on my shelf and being immeasurably proud. Half hour long, hook after hook after hook. Wicked.

Not to mention making me feel ok to be nerdy. God that sounds corny, but it's mostly true. Geek chic. If it weren’t for Rivers Cuomo and co I’d probably be a "captain of the team" jock quarterback with a convertible and a hot girlfriend. Which actually sounds quite appealing. But that’s not the point.

Current mood: nerdy.

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26th June, 2006. 12:16 am. Haircuts, and how they spite me


See now, I'm not sure what I'm actually moaning about here. Is it my hair's fault that I always leave a hairdressers looking like an idiot, or is that down to the inability of the person cutting it? Because one thing is for certain; I always leave the chair looking like either Adolf Hitler, or a fucking choirboy.

Though I wont supply you with visual evidence of its current state (for fear of being eternally chastised), I can reveal that my hair is currently in the latter form of post-stylist butchery. Don't confuse this pious look with the angelic blonde locks of little cherubs you find on bereavement cards or in tacky gift shops (see: my house). Oh no. Far from blonde, I have what some people charitably call a mousey-brown shade. Those people are liars. My actual colour is closer to rat-grey.

Regardless of colouring (I'm sure Ive got a half full can of Dulex paint knocking about somewhere), how difficult is it to fulfil the request of "don't cut too much off, especially the front?" I mean surely that makes a hairdressers job easier? It's like walking up to a bin man and going "don't worry yourself with collecting ALL the rubbish mate!"

I used to think it was the fault of the bargain "4-cuts-for-a-fiver" barbers that I went to as a kid (note that as a child I always wanted a "step" haircut, or to have "Nike" shaved into the back of my head. Shoot me now.) Chris, the barber of old, used to have one eye on his latest flutter on the horse racing, one on the dodgy-diamond geezer trying to flog him a "Rolex", and no eyes on the state of my hair. Though he was right handed, his left hand would wield a pair of Crayola safety scissors, while his steadier right hand would periodically allow cigarette ash to rain down into my horrified eyes.

So I must admit that my new hairdresser is far more proficient in many respects, in that somewhere beyond her "I've cut Doherty's hair" ego, she does care.

Ultimately then I suppose it comes down to one thing: I have got shit, unworkable hair.

The irony is, if I had NO hair, I'd kill myself. Seriously. Probably by hanging myself with extensions pulled from the heads of lucky, fruitfully hairy people. The bastards.

Current mood: embarrassed.

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22nd June, 2006. 9:16 pm. Imbruglia, Valensi and me

I’m desperately trying to avoid succumbing to the fact that my life is wasting away. I’m going to try to convince myself that I am doing something productive by writing a Live Journal. Which probably isn’t going to help my current situation at all as I should be looking for a job, but my excuse is there’s a power cut in the house right now and this laptop at least has enough battery for me to vent my spleen a while.

So yesterday was a right laff, as I went to see the Strokes in Hyde Park. However, no one told me that a pre-requisite of being a Strokes fan is parading around in orange skinny jeans. Seeing all those frighteningly trendy types wandering around made me feel like a coffee flavour Revel in a bag full of Malteasers. Meeting up with lovely Liz calmed me down enough to eat some Cheesy Chips. They sounded “crazy“, but were actually just chips with some strange yellow liquid poured all over them. Probably melted Lego heads or something. They were more fun than getting refused an over priced beer in the tent thing though. Wasn’t even a pint…

Anyway: music! The Raconteurs were really good, but I think Jack White may be going bald. A minor quibble. I saw the Super Furry Animals for the first time, and thought they were proper wicked, but apparently everyone who’d seen them before said that they were “holding back”. So they must be PROPER wicked on their good days.

And of course then, the beautiful, beautiful Strokes. I wish I was in the Strokes. But I look a bit like Ian Beale, so that isn’t going to happen anytime soon. That said, who the fuck is telling Nick Valensi that his haircut isn’t totally crap? Fair play, he’s got quite a voluptuous mane, but for a bloke I’d go gay for, it makes him look like a greasy BeeGee. Anyway, Strokes get 4 out of 5, dropping a point purely for the dead animal hanging from Valensi’s scalp.

What’s that I hear you say? Did I see any stars? ONLY BLOODY NATALIE IMBRUGLIA! Old Beth from Neighbours stood next to me right through the Strokes set, and was being perved over by none other than the super smarmy David Walliams. Just as I plucked up the courage to offer Miss Imbruglia one of my jelly babys (stolen earlier from the VIP area) a bit of a ruckus kicked off and someone spilt beer all over me and Mr Little Britain. I got soaked. Walliams had a few droplets hanging from his lapel or something, but it still took about 30 minders to dry him off. As was inevitable, they pair were rushed to cover. It seems Natalie and I are forever to be “Torn” apart. Ho-hum.

As the day slipped into the shortest night of the year, I met up with Lotte And Jyotsna, which can only ever result in something wicked happening. Quite as randomly wicked as it turned out to be I did not expect. In a bizarre stroke of luck, we got off the bus and bumped straight into Naomi and co and ended up at the Roxy, which was far more fun that I thought it would be. It was good on so many levels, but to be honest I’m so knackered now I cant remember that much of it. Though I do remember numerous Goldsmith group hugs. By the time I was making my way back with Lotte, having a heart to heart, it was light again. So good fun all round.

Except for what last night I thought was my liver quietly weeping is probably actually appendicitis as I’m in immense pain. And I can’t smell anything, otherwise known as “Nose-Blindness”.

Current mood: exhausted.

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