archives

March 2004

March 31st, 2004. My head hurts

Too much gin last night. Ow ow ow ow ow. Not enough sleep, either. I think I need to go back to bed.

Sometime in the next week or so, someone will probably leave Comment #1000 on this site. Ooooh, milestones!

11:50 Link Comments (3)

March 29th, 2004. In the audience

"I always like looking at the rest of the audience at gigs," said Ben. He's not the only one. Often, when I write about gigs I've been to, I find I spend more time writing about the other people in the crowd than about the performance itself.

As I said earlier, I didn't know much at all about Laura Veirs before taking Ben along to her gig on Saturday. I'd only seen one photo of her, with distinctive, heavy-rimmed glasses. Looking round, half of the women in the audience seemed to be wearing similar ones. Glasses are too expensive for me to follow frame fashions.

One woman in the audience, in fact, looked awfully like Laura herself. The glasses were there. She had the same-shaped face, tied-back hair, and good, practical gig-attending clothes. She was paying close attention to the support acts, but seemed to be wearing earplugs of some kind. We were quite pleased when, at the second interval, she walked to the front of the crowd, climbed onto the stage and turned out to be Laura Veirs after all - it's always nice when you see musicians in the crowd, listening to their support acts.

The first support act were really rather good. Called Aberfeldy - "we're not from Aberfeldy but it's probably all the same to you Londoners" - they will probably end up cursed with the title 'the Belle and Sebastian of this decade'. To me, of course, that's a good thing. They seemed to be really enjoying their performance, always giving each other sidelong grins. And any band whose backing singers sing holding their noses, in order to sound like aliens, can't be all bad.

I wasn't such a fan of the second support, an Irish singer-songwriter called Fionn Regan. Technically, he was a very good singer and a very good guitarist; but it wasn't the sort of music I can take in large amounts. Frankly, when you just have a voice and a guitar then you have to be careful you don't start to sound repetitive.

I was worried I'd think the same about Laura Veirs, to be honest, but she turned out to have plenty of variety. She was very good indeed, as it happened. I'm feeling guilty that I should be able to say something fuller, something more constructive about her. She came across as a quiet kind of person on-stage, but friendly. I wish there was something just a little bit more stand-out that I could say about her, other than just: she was very very good. She was enjoying herself, too, along with another guitarist playing alongside her called Karl Blau. Every so often he would crouch down and do something intriguing and electronic on the floor. When musicians are enjoying themselves, it really comes across to the audience.

Years and years ago, when I was in the local Youth Orchestra, my geography teacher was also one of their conductors. On the side of his saxophone case was a faded, worn Musician's Union sticker: "Keep music live!" I didn't really understand the point of it at the time; but it's when you go to a gig, the bands are clearly having fun, and the audience are too, that you realise just what a great thing live music can be.

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March 26th, 2004. Up there, in the air

Tomorrow night, I'm risking my reputation as someone who has good taste in music. I'm dragging someone to a gig with me, even though I have no real idea what it's going to sound like.

To be fair, I've heard one song* by this artist - someone called Laura Veirs - and it sounds kind of OK. I also think it's probably the sort of thing that Ben would probably like, so I've persuaded him to come along too. Plus, it's cheap, for a gig, and I've not been to any since the start of December. And it finishes early, so afterwards we'll be able to go out somewhere else and still get into the Citrus Club for free. And even pop in to Rick's Birthday Night Out on the way. It will be a packed night, which is just what I need right now.

This all sounds like a huge pile of self-justification, doesn't it? I have to admit, the last time I dragged someone along to a gig because it was a band I liked that they'd never heard of, it was a bit of a disaster. I persuaded Gordon to come through to Edinburgh, but the band I wanted to see (The Hidden Cameras) didn't turn up. They were the support act; the headliners (The Sleepy Jackson) turned out to be a bit rubbish live. And then, afterwards, Gordon missed his train home and had to find an Edinburgh hotel. At least if Ben misses his last bus, he can always walk.

* And I can't even remember what it's called. Cloud something. I keep thinking Cloud Howe, but that's a Lewis Grassic Gibbon novel. Although it would be a good name for an album too, if you ask me.

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March 25th, 2004. Going Postal

"I hate going home," I said to Owen, yesterday, "because I'm always worried that there will be scary post of some kind on the doormat." And, as it turned out, when I got home, there was.

However, it's mysterious scary post. I don't actually know what it is. All there was was a card from the postman, saying a letter is waiting at the sorting office, that needs somebody to sign for it. The intriguing thing is, though, that it's not addressed to me. It's for The Occupier.

Of course, it might be one of those letters that say "So and so or The Occupier", which turn up sometimes. I'm a bit worried, though, as to what it might be. Am I being sued? It might be the council complaining about the state of my gutters, in which case I can just send it on to my landlord. There have also been a lot of scary letters lately which aren't addressed to me - they look like they're from bailiffs, but the name on the envelope is noone I've heard of. Maybe it's something to do with that.

Either way, I'm worried as to what it might be about. And I can't think of any other possibilities.

11:03 Link Comments (8)

March 23rd, 2004. Scenes from your average Sunday evening

I was having a giggling fit. It was Mike's fault. He was hammering a drawing pin into a Korean novel, using the spine of a sociology textbook. I don't know why I found this funny, but I did.

"You laugh far too easily, you know," said Mike. I kept giggling. It wasn't as if I'd been drinking, even. Mike kept hammering away until the drawing pin was all the way in. Nobody else was about, but we could hear Sven watching the TV in his bedroom. BBC Breakfast News.

"I'm going to have to blog this," I said, when I could speak again. "I have to think of some way to turn 'blog' into a euphemism," replied Mike.

*****

There are protesters outside the Parliament offices this morning. I'm not sure what they're protesting about, but they've put a lot of effort into dressing up. Their posters have slogans like "Moral responsibility for your actions," which is one of those slogans that scores well on face value, but is usually hiding some kind of horrible right-wing cause such as 'let's bring back the death penalty' or 'let's kill all abortionists'.

10:49 Link Comments (0)

March 21st, 2004. Just because you say it's not a skirt doesn't mean it isn't one

What with the rugby match yesterday, Edinburgh has been full of two things this weekend:

I'm completely indifferent to French people until they start doing the usual tourist thing of standing in my way in the street. Men in kilts, though, get on my nerves. I feel like going up to them and screaming "WHYYY!" although I don't because, of course, they are all bigger than me.

One previous job I had was connected with a very posh, very expensive kilt maker. And, I have to say, there is so much etiquette connected with Proper Kilt Making. You have to wear just the right sort of socks and shoes. The type of jacket you wear is extremely important - there is one kind to wear in the daytime. Another to wear in the evening. Another to wear to formal events. Another that just looks a bit different, but you can only wear it with certain styles of shirt. And so on. And so on.

All in all, this isn't very surprising, because Highland Dress was invented from scratch in the early 19th century, one of those times when social distinction by pointless details of etiquette was at its peak. All that stuff you've heard about it being the traditional dress of the Highland savage is all a load of nonsense: it was invented by rich aristocrats in the 1820s because they all wanted to dress up like characters from Walter Scott novels - or, at least, what they though characters from Walter Scott novels should look like. And they're still all wearing the outfits, 200 years later. The kilt itself, incidentally, was invented by a Lancashire mill-owner at the end of the 18th century. Whenever I see rugby supporters with a strange desire to show off their calves, I desperately want to educate them about all this.

What can be really good fun, though, is when you point out that a kilt is a type of skirt. Kilt-wearing men really get aggrieved at that. "It's not a skirt! It's a kilt! It's what true Scots have always worn!" No, dear, it's what rich people decided to wear a couple of hundred years ago. But anyway. Yes, it is a skirt. Are you really so insecure about yourself that you won't even consider that it might be? King George IV, incidentally - the rich aristocrat who made them fashionable in the first place - used to wear flesh-coloured support stockings with his, to try and hide his horribly lardy legs. Bet all you rugby supporters wouldn't be seen dead in them.

(if you want to read more about the invention of Highland Dress, kilts, tartans and all that rubbish, try reading The Invention of Tradition, edited by Hobsbawm and Ranger. It has a useful chapter on it.)

11:51 Link Comments (4)

March 19th, 2004. Weather

I'm sat in the Scottish Room at the library, because it's always easier to get a computer down here. I walked here through grey weather and drizzle.

I can hear a bell that keep ringing. I turn my head towards the windows, and - it's snowing!

Because I don't have anything else to say, here's some recent search requests:

I think that's enough of that.

10:45 Link Comments (1)

March 18th, 2004. Miscellaneous

Unsurprisingly, nobody - yet - has come up to me at random and said "Hello! You're Caitlin!" or anything along those lines. I'd have been more surprised if it had happened, fankly, because I'm not really distinctive-looking, and there are hardly more than a handful of local readers that I don't already know.

When I have money, I might make myself a bit more recognisable by going in for merchandising - F@TS tshirts and whatever. I'd have to come up with some good designs first, though. Let me know if you have any ideas; although I'll probably get around to redesigning the site before I do that.

I'm drafting this post from the pub. I've come for the pub quiz, and noone else is here yet.

In fact, that's not quite true. I drafted the bits above in the pub on Sunday, and just as I wrote that last line someone else turned up. I'm now in the library, typing it all up.

The skirt is nearly finished, now - working on it in the daytime, in good light, it didn't take as long as I was expecting. All it really needs is a tidy-up on the inside, to get rid of all the scraggly thread-ends that my awful sewing leaves behind. The hem could probably do with another press, too. I'm going to a party tomorrow night; if I wear it to that, I'll try and find someone to take photos.

To change the subject: I've not written anything about Madrid, because I don't like talking about a) politics b) horrific death and destruction. On the other hand, I do want to mention one meme that I've spotted going around: the claim that the Madrid bombing was 911 days after September 11th, 2001. I've double-checked this several times, and it's not true. The actual figure is 912 days, because of the leap year. Um, so there.

11:07 Link Comments (3)

March 15th, 2004. Advert

To help sort out my money issues, I really should get people to move into my spare bedrooms.

So, is anyone in Edinburgh interested in moving in with a blogger of indeterminate gender, who lives in the city centre in a rather cheap ground-floor flat?

(yes, the title of the blog is a big lie. In fact, I moved out of the real flat at the top of the stairs a couple of years before even starting the blog. So there.)

11:24 Link Comments (6)

March 14th, 2004. Now That's What I Call Hardcore

"Excuse me?" said the woman on the street corner, last night. The corner of Cowgate and St. Mary's St; we'd just left the Holyrood Tavern. I recognised her: she'd just been in the Tav too. She had a black leather jacket, and a rather nice green scarf.

"Do you know anywhere I can go in Edinburgh that's edgy and hardcore?" she asked. Sadly, we couldn't think of anywhere. "One of the things I don't like about this city," said Ben, "is that there isn't anywhere at all edgy or hardcore."

"I could kill you," said Sven. "That'd be edgy." Sven had just had a two-pint cocktail pitcher to himself; the sugar rush was starting to give him laughing fits.

She just seemed to want a good night out somewhere. She didn't look particularly happy about life. We watched her walk away, up High School Yards, past the mortuary and the Archaeology Department. I wonder if she had a good night out in the end.

Whether she did or not, we definitely did, celebrating Mark's birthday (which was yesterday) and Ben's graduation (which was, um, two years ago). After wandering around in the cold a bit trying to meet up and find people, we went to a new bar on the Cowgate, the Red Monkey Vodka Club. It wasn't too bad, but full of slightly annoying people. The red lighting made me keep thinking of darkrooms, and made me think: why doesn't someone open a photography-themed bar? It could also have red lighting everywhere, and lots of lovely black and white photos on the wall. It could sell cocktails with names like "The Developer" and "The Enlarger", and there would be a good reason for it to have a nasty chemical smell floating around in the background.

After there, and a quick trip to the Tav, we spent the rest of the night at the Citrus Club, dancing in stupidly energetic fashion. I can't exactly remember much of it, but I can tell I had a good time because I now have a rather sore ankle, and bruised arms. As Ben said afterwards: "that wasn't like being 18 again; it was what you wanted nights out to be like when you were 18." We really should do it again some time.

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March 11th, 2004. Food

One thing I've been meaning to talk about but have been forgetting: last Thursday's lunch.

It was Si's idea. He'd had one meal at Bonsai, the Japanese restaurant just round the corner from my flat, and thought it wonderful. He'd noticed that they do special offers at lunchtime. So, he persuaded us all to go along. I'm glad he did, because - especially for the money - it was one of the best meals I can ever remember having.

However, as I said: Japanese restaurant. In other words, chopsticks. I'd never, ever used them before, and I was kind of expecting disaster. I couldn't even break the pair of chopsticks apart properly, which I was sure must be a bad omen.

Does anyone remember watching Tomorrow's World fifteen or twenty years ago? Specifically, the shows where they would demonstrate the latest wonder of robotics technology: the robot capable of making the tea, or boiling an egg, or whatever. The live demonstration would always go horrifically wrong, with boiling water and shards of eggshell scattered around the studio; and Maggie Philbin would dissolve into giggles. That's kind of how I felt trying to use chopsticks. In my head: "Close them together. No! No! Not like that! Close them together properly. Lift arm. Move beansprout to mouth. Swivel elb... argh! Nooo! Redo from start! Open chopsticks around beansprout..." and so on, until, slowly, everything disappeared from my plate.

As Sana pointed out, even if you're good with chopsticks it still takes much longer to eat with them than it does with a knife and fork, purely because you can't greedily shovel huge amounts of food into your mouth at once. And, because of that, you feel like you've eaten a much bigger meal than you actually have. I did, though, eat much, much slower than everyone else - I suppose I did give them chance to digest a bit before moving on to pudding. And, as I said, the food was delicious. Wonderful. I need to think up an excuse to go back some time.

(and I might even write about the food itself some time, too)

11:45 Link Comments (4)

March 8th, 2004. Empty

Life is all a bit flat at the moment. I'm trying to fight off the various debt-collection people, and wondering if I'll ever manage to get a job.

The problem is: I have no experience at all in anything useful. I've never worked in a shop. I've never worked in a bar. I'm never going to be able to get any quick, low-paid short-term jobs because of that. I don't have any qualifications in anything useful. I'm not particularly smart, friendly, vivacious or good-looking. If I *do* get an interview, it goes terribly. In short, I am doomed.

The skirt-making has also hit a low point. I'm sewing on lots of little, fiddly fasteners. It leads to lots of swearing, tangled threads and pricked fingers. I can manage it for about half an hour before getting too angry and frustrated, and wandering off to calm myself down a bit.

On the other hand, Sarah sends this link: underground and metro systems of the world, mapped at the same scale. It's very good, although the London one seems to have a chunk of the Central Line missing.

14:19 Link Comments (11)

March 4th, 2004. Crafty

Managed to conquer the apathy-demons yesterday by restarting work on the craft project I started at least a year ago: hacking at an old pair of trousers to make them into a skirt. I've finished most of the fiddly bits re-sewing the groin, and now have lots of long, boring seams to sew. I'm planning, instead of sewing one of the front seams up, to put a line of hook-and-eye fasteners along it. They might not work very well when not under tension; but we'll see how it goes.

There's another idea I've had to amuse myself, because of a couple of things I was wondering about. After writing that fashion show report the other day, I've developed a bit of an inflated idea of my own self-importance, and was wondering if anyone who lives round here ever thinks they've seen me in the street. So, here's a challenge. Spot me. If anyone (who I don't already know, because that would be cheating) comes up to me at random and says "Hello, you are Caitlin and I claim my mention on your blog" then I promise I'll write something about you.

(of course, if anyone actually does this, I'll probably faint. But it's worth a go.)

10:33 Link Comments (11)

March 2nd, 2004. Meme of the month

Say you were meeting a new person - blind date, new friend, who knows, and you wanted them to have some idea of what kind of person you are, and who you are, but you can't actually tell them in so many words. Instead, you have to give them a box, with a dozen things in it for them to ponder over.

What would you put in the box? No cheating allowed. My answers are:

(I caught this meme from Hannah)

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March 1st, 2004. From our fashion correspondant

Saturday night was a gothic fashion show at the Teviot Union, organised jointly by people from Edinburgh and Glasgow. I went along because I knew a couple of the models, and was interested to see whether there would be anything for someone, like me, who isn't a goth. I'm still not entirely sure. I felt slightly out-of-place, as the rest of the audience were all in the same sort of clothes seen on stage. Two girls wandered round in lingerie and feather boas, handing out lovely flyers for something called Ministry Of Burlesque; I've no idea what that actually is, because the flyers said nothing other than the URL.

The Glaswegians came on-stage, looking sullen and surly. Their models' main facial expression was "OK, I'll go on, but I hate you. And I'm not going to tidy my bedroom." "The Glasgow lot are all either fat or schemies," one of the local models had confided earlier. Corsets were de rigeur for the women, with several that looked to fit rather poorly, leaving two ugly rolls of breast overhanging the top. Black was, of course, the dominant colour, but there was still quite a bit of variety, with occasional outfits in babydoll pink or fluffy, lacy white. Surprisingly, most of the outfits were completed with either flat shoes or bare feet.

The men's clothes seemed to have more of a unified feel: tunics and long cavalry-style overcoats were common, with bondage touches such as buckles and padlocks. "All these long clothes look very nice," said a local amateur fashion designer I spoke to, "but they're not very practical for clubbing." In general, she thought: "There were a few interesting things - ways of using fabrics, for example - but it was mostly stuff that I've been seeing around for a couple of years."

Most of the Edinburgh models seemed rather happier to be there, and were rather livelier on stage. Of course, they had the home-team advantage, with cheers from parts of the audience when their friends came down the catwalk. Their clothes, in general, had slightly more of a fetish look, with rather more PVC and rubber. The shoes were higher, and there were plenty of UV-reactive details. I always approve of things that glow; it's the main reason I drink things with tonic water in. Some outfits veered towards punk - ripped tights, red tartan miniskirts - and some appeared to be a kind of goth sportswear. The men were mostly in tight trousers and ordinary-looking black tops. One t-shirt had an electronic scrolling message on it; naturally, it had a spelling mistake.

Overall, the Edinburgh clothes were slightly more adventurous than the Glasgow ones. They were more club-oriented; whereas some of the Glasgow outfits would look perfect on an Old Town tour guide. Did the show make me more gothic? Well, no more than I already was. There were plenty of outfits that I'd love to wear if I was going somewhere appropriate - if only I had the confidence to do so.

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March 1st, 2004. Silliness

I've had an article published on Rum and Monkey! Woo!

It is very silly. I hope that noone takes it seriously at all.

11:14 Link Comments (3)

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