You are 15% Bootlicker, 37% Toe-Stepper, and 54% Obnoxious Anti-Snob!
|You just like being difficult, don't you. Place in society? Means nothing to you. Place in the counterculture? Look out for Number One! You seem to enjoy cutting off your nose to spite your face. "Garage rock? You simpering poseur. I only listen to real-time recordings of construction site noises."|
|My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:|
|Link: The Snobbery Test written by fnordite on Ok Cupid, home of the 32-Type Dating Test|
somewhat strange weekend where everything I was missing kept catching up with me and evenings turned into pie-slice schedule tetris. Folding three evenings into one works well enough, if you remember only to drink for one of them, terrible things happen otherwise ...
Coldcut were very much like Coldcut, which suited me. Two live singers added little to the experience. I danced somewhat spasmodic from txtmsg panic earlier and discovered myself abruptly among a group of colleagues, bloody odd. Many, many people told us that we (I was with oxfordhacker) should go to The Big Chill. Suggestions the night before had tended to Wychwood about which hmm. I went last year. I still have a whiny strip I wrote about watching the ghosts of dead racehorses (it's on Cheltenham race-course) in the rain in the too-bitchy-to-publish pile. The Feeling are at chill, Digitonal at wychwood, Mr Scruff at both. The night ended in terriying persistent maracas from Burt Latino shooing me home to get on with that stuff I needed to do on the internet. Busy night, but so are they all.
Other committments meant I was late into town on Saturday, but I was in time to do a little bit of lap-top wrangling as stand-in for jinty at the andypop memorial, when she had to go home early; good to be useful. Others have already described the event: not at my best in crowds, I drank my glass of white wine, and concentrated on schooling my face ... I have a couple of CDs (they had rares and unreleased!) in my bag ... that I've not yet been brave enough to play.
Then (Punch, Maid Marian and her Merry Men, 90s rave music) and the next morning I ended up breaking my brain trying to visualise the social network connections going on after swapping LJ names over breakfast, while The Young Knives (that I'd missed at the Zodiac) smiled shyly out of the Guardian and the Mighty Boosh (which I'd missed at the New/Borders) played merrily over the hangovers.
Then the George at London Bridge and eating pumpkin and fried banana with N and S and getting colder and colder as winter reasserted itself with stinging icy rain reminding me how stupid I was for not bringing a hat, wearing more layers, remembering my gloves.
I'm still cold.
P.S. For anyone wondering, updates on mr_snips are locked behind a filter called "friendsofneal". If you're not in it and want to be, let me know and I'll add you in.