Music Man

I slept a lot. I’m not sure what the point is where a sleep becomes a coma, but I think I was borderline between the two. Not sure why I slept that much, but I guess, as people always say, I probably needed it. I’m sure that’s balls but it makes wasting away the whole morning seem that little bit better. I have lots of dull things to do today. All those menial tasks that take up vast amounts of life. I have to post some letters, go to the bank and pick up a prescription. You would think that in today’s world someone would’ve invented something that does all that for you. Due to the geographical location of all those places it is going to take at least an hour to get those simple things done. I think we need special tubes in the house that you can put post in and it gets sent to the post office. Then maybe a machine that just scans the money in your house and puts it straight into the bank. Lastly if we all just got deliveries of vast amounts of drugs to our homes every week and we would be trusted with just taking what we needed. I can see already the major flaws in there, but I’m not going to scoff sleeping pills and morphine unless I get very bored. Which I often do. Hmmm. Still I reckon there’d be a lot less crime. On account of everyone ODing at home before they’ve had a chance to leave the house. Then I suppose people off their tits would put things like hamsters in the Post Tubes mucking that system up and they would scan in the same bits of money over and over again allowing them to seem richer than they are and therefore buying more hamsters to put in the tubes. I think I’ll just have a walk.

Another lovely Fat Tuesday last night. Both Paul Sinha’s and Reg Hunter’s shows were brilliant. My night however was made when Reg brought his own CD to play during the interval. He had not trusted my taste in music and had provided his own tunes to keep the punters happy before he came on. I asked him how he knew I wouldn’t have those tracks on my iPod and he said ‘You won’t have those tracks on your iPod’. Turns out I did have 3 of them on my iPod. I had Hikky Burr by Quincy Jones and Bill Cosby, Resurrection 95 Extra P Mix by Common Sense and Check The Rhime by A Tribe Called Quest. Reg was suitably surprised, let me keep his CD and said that we need to sit and talk about music. I felt like the funkiest little white museo king in town. I like those moments in life when people assume you know nothing about a subject and in fact you know lots. It rarely happens to me as I tend not to know much about anything. My key topics of knowledge are music but mostly funk, and hip-hop, Marvel comics circa 1990-1994, and veggie sausage sandwiches. I’d be a liar if I pretended to really know anything extensive about any of those (except maybe the veggie sausage sandwich) and were I to be quizzed on Mastermind about either I’d very quickly lose. However I like to think I know enough to make it look as though I know more than I do. This is all good until someone who knows more than me questions me on it and then I look like a dick. This happens often. Where I fail in the music world is that I retain great knowledge of how a track sounds, but can never remember the name, the lyrics, or who its by, essentially making any recognition of its sound pretty useless. It almost the opposite of autism.

I need to get swotting up if me and Reg are gonna chat about music. Again hip-hop wise I’m pretty good on the early 90’s era, much the same as comic books. I think this is because its when I first started listening to it as a teenager and had little else to do with my life. I retained all the knowledge and lyrics of Snoop Dogg’s Doggy Style while listening to it on Karl Black’s cassette at the back of Mr Yates’ science class, but consequently still think osmosis was an Egyptian god. But my life rarely needs science anymore, or so I tell myself. I just like to believe electricity happens through magic and my oven works thanks to a tiny wizard who sits in the grill. In the meantime I can rely all the tracks on the Pharcyde’s first two albums. I think I have prioritised well.

I have to admit, I was rather hurt that Reg assumed I did not have the music he had. I have often tried to work out what sort of music fan I look like. I’ve come to realise it doesn’t look obvious I like hip-hop and funk. I also think I don’t look particularly like I like indie, or DnB, or electro. Or classical. Or metal. I have a horrible feeling people look at me and assume I like things like Jack Johnson and James Morrison. In fact that is the small section of music I despise. I must make more effort to join the sheep and dress in the iconic fashions of my music taste. I think this means I will have to mix baggy jeans, DM boots, indie haircut, a violin, a 70’s furry pimp coat with my Blur tshirt. Ultimately people would stop making judgements on my music taste and instead just look at me as though I am some sort of horrible mess of a human being. I think I will remain as I am and surprise people with my iPod selections like some sort of music Ninja.

Off to do my errands. Maybe if I took all the insulin from my prescription first the rest of the jobs would be fun? Or I’d probably find out that fine line between coma and sleep once and for all.

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