I've gone to the dark side. It wasn't an easy decision, except that it was because my hand was forced. I've bought a Kindle.
Now, I've heard many complaints about e-readers generally. They're not like real books! They can't replace the feeling of the printed word, or a well-worn copy of a beloved tome. This is perfectly true; it's not the same. Much like CDs weren't the same as vinyl and MP3s weren't the same as CDs. It will be ever thus as long as technology keeps advancing.
I've been exactly one of those people, too: when MP3 players started getting popular I grumbled like a crabbit badger. It's not the SAME as CDs with ARTWORK and THERE'S JUST NO SOUL and it's RUBBISH. Then I woke up one morning and realised my living space was intolerable: I could not move for CDs. The buying had to stop. I've never regretted going over to iPod land and can't imagine why I ever complained about getting one.
The soul isn't of the medium isn't in where you store it or how you access it, you see. The soul of the book is in the words, not the paper it's printed on. The real reason behind my decision to buy one, though, was a repeat of the CD problem. I had more books than I could store, to the point where I'd stopped buying them. I had to get rid of more than sixty last month (though you never bin a book. You give them to charity shops. Binning a book is only for the truly awful ones) and it broke my heart. Even with the cleared space though, I wasn't buying more: I'd only fill it up and have to go through the same again. It was time to change methods.
That said, you still want to read on something of quality, which is why I went for a Kindle having heard many raving about the screen, and rightly so. The screen is like paper. This is impossible to explain without sounding mental, but it is. When you open up the package for the first time you might think they've stuck a piece of paper on the screen - no, that's actually the screen. There's no glare, no flicker, no blurring. It's pretty much perfect. After a while to adjust you don't even notice much difference between it and reading off paper: it's that good.
It's simple to use - a directional button, a keyboard and the previous/next page buttons are all you need, so that's all they give you - the downloading is as instant as they say, it has two built-in dictionaries to look up words as you go, you can highlight passages, search within books, and it holds something like 3,500 of them. What's not to like?
I had a minor problem with mine in that it arrived registered to someone else - it's meant to arrive registered to the Amazon account you buy it with, but it seems a lady called Anne will have my Kindle since I had hers. Sorry, Anne. Easy dealt with though - a matter of de-registering her in the menu and entering my own Amazon account details. If you've set up any other device for wi-fi you can do it for a Kindle, and away you go. It's all easy.
A little too easy to buy books, mind you. All those titles, there for a click. There is a disadvantage in that e-books are subject to VAT whereas physical books aren't, but so far I haven't noticed any massive price discrepancies.
There are two types of Kindle, the wi-fi and the wi-fi + 3G. I went for the wi-fi only Kindle; firstly because it's forty quid cheaper and secondly I don't need the ability to download books anywhere thanks very much, which is the only difference between the models. Anyway, having to wait until you have a wi-fi connection means you'll have time to think about buying stuff before you hit the button. This is a wonderful thing.
So yes: I can only recommend the Kindle. It's easy to use, but most importantly it's easy to read on. Your bookshelves will thank you.
Saturday, 8 January 2011
Serious business
If you're in the UK and have even the slightest interest in comedy, you'll have heard about Tramadol Nights, Frankie Boyle's Channel 4 show. It has so far involved disability jokes, race jokes, unfunny sketches, Frankie's actual stand-up at which he is good - and an awful lot of shouting in the tabloids which you could have set your watch by.
Last year, I bought a ticket to see Frankie Boyle. It was purchased well before the gig and before any particular controversy flared up. More and more details emerged about the show, though, that gave me pause. After careful consideration nearer the gig, I sold the ticket on eBay (it went for almost three times face value despite being a single ticket in a rubbish seat) as I decided that no, actually, an angry man making jokes about disability wasn't my idea of a good night out. It wasn't a crusade or a rant, I just didn't fancy it.
I remember when Frankie was the genial psycho on Mock The Week: he hogged the microphone and he talked over everyone else, but yes, he was funny. He also had (shock!) non-controversial observational stuff, and that was funny too. I've defended him many's a time, but now, to be honest, his stuff just bores me.
With Frankie, I'm no longer sure how much of what he says is to make a point via something controversial, or if he's saying it because he's trying deliberately to poke the newspapers. It doesn't help of course that this article has Tramadol Nights writer Tom Stade claiming that '[we] are just sitting there going “I wonder what the fuck we can write that will absolutely piss everyone off” and we seem to have achieved that.’ Ah, now that's comedy.
As far as many are concerned, comedy has a job to push the envelope. Humour is disarming, it has the ability to re-frame situations in different lights, and it's a very powerful weapon. Comedy is always going to offend someone, and without it we end up with Michael McIntyre and nothing else. There is a point, too, where you have to realise that actually comedians aren't saying this to upset you personally. The first time I saw Richard Herring live, at the Fringe, I was incredibly offended and upset by part of his routine, to the point where I didn't want to see him again. Three days later I did see him again (because this is how the Fringe works) and I felt far better about the same routine - because the humour that had offended me initially had instead changed my perception of the subject and made it into something entirely ridiculous. If I could laugh at that, I could laugh at anything. Humour as a weapon: against your own demons, against pomposity, against taking this life so seriously that you lose all your joy.
But after a while, this shock-for-the-sake-of-it stuff gets boring. There seems to be a prevailing notion these days that culture is worthless if it isn't controversial; that it has to challenge you, scare you, make you sick, and there's no room for being, well, entertained. That's rubbish. You're such a sheep if you like laughing at something that hasn't made you feel wrong for laughing at it.
People claim Frankie is the new Bill Hicks. Bollocks. You listen to Bill Hicks and you all too clearly observe the chasm between them (and also get a bit fearful because exactly the sum of fuck all appears to have changed since his heyday). Bill was angry at everything, and everyone, and he made damn sure that you knew it, but - he also believed that we could all do so much better. He believed we could improve if only we used our brains a bit more.
And he'd never have made jokes about a disabled child for publicity, either. If you're going to attack Jordan, the living embodiment of how awful celebrity culture can be, then attack her. She courts the public eye relentlessly, and that means taking the rough with the smooth. Her severely disabled son, however, deserves no such ire, because he's done nothing wrong. He can't defend himself. Be controversial, piss people off, if that's your role as a comedian: but choose your targets properly.
There's so much more to this issue: about privilege and who are a bunch of white people to get pissed off about racial epithets and the Daily Mail shouting about how he should be banned and - of course Frankie Boyle shouldn't be banned. That'd give him immense satisfaction for a start, and also there's a freedom of speech issue that you're all too aware of.
No, this rant is one of disappointment. Frankie Boyle is very intelligent, he has a way with one-liners, and he certainly doesn't need to turn into a bland observational no-mark. It's the fact he's after the collective annoyance of people who don't even watch his fucking show but read about it in the papers, rather than the laugh, that's wearying. He could do so much better. If only he'd use his brain a bit more.
Last year, I bought a ticket to see Frankie Boyle. It was purchased well before the gig and before any particular controversy flared up. More and more details emerged about the show, though, that gave me pause. After careful consideration nearer the gig, I sold the ticket on eBay (it went for almost three times face value despite being a single ticket in a rubbish seat) as I decided that no, actually, an angry man making jokes about disability wasn't my idea of a good night out. It wasn't a crusade or a rant, I just didn't fancy it.
I remember when Frankie was the genial psycho on Mock The Week: he hogged the microphone and he talked over everyone else, but yes, he was funny. He also had (shock!) non-controversial observational stuff, and that was funny too. I've defended him many's a time, but now, to be honest, his stuff just bores me.
With Frankie, I'm no longer sure how much of what he says is to make a point via something controversial, or if he's saying it because he's trying deliberately to poke the newspapers. It doesn't help of course that this article has Tramadol Nights writer Tom Stade claiming that '[we] are just sitting there going “I wonder what the fuck we can write that will absolutely piss everyone off” and we seem to have achieved that.’ Ah, now that's comedy.
As far as many are concerned, comedy has a job to push the envelope. Humour is disarming, it has the ability to re-frame situations in different lights, and it's a very powerful weapon. Comedy is always going to offend someone, and without it we end up with Michael McIntyre and nothing else. There is a point, too, where you have to realise that actually comedians aren't saying this to upset you personally. The first time I saw Richard Herring live, at the Fringe, I was incredibly offended and upset by part of his routine, to the point where I didn't want to see him again. Three days later I did see him again (because this is how the Fringe works) and I felt far better about the same routine - because the humour that had offended me initially had instead changed my perception of the subject and made it into something entirely ridiculous. If I could laugh at that, I could laugh at anything. Humour as a weapon: against your own demons, against pomposity, against taking this life so seriously that you lose all your joy.
But after a while, this shock-for-the-sake-of-it stuff gets boring. There seems to be a prevailing notion these days that culture is worthless if it isn't controversial; that it has to challenge you, scare you, make you sick, and there's no room for being, well, entertained. That's rubbish. You're such a sheep if you like laughing at something that hasn't made you feel wrong for laughing at it.
People claim Frankie is the new Bill Hicks. Bollocks. You listen to Bill Hicks and you all too clearly observe the chasm between them (and also get a bit fearful because exactly the sum of fuck all appears to have changed since his heyday). Bill was angry at everything, and everyone, and he made damn sure that you knew it, but - he also believed that we could all do so much better. He believed we could improve if only we used our brains a bit more.
And he'd never have made jokes about a disabled child for publicity, either. If you're going to attack Jordan, the living embodiment of how awful celebrity culture can be, then attack her. She courts the public eye relentlessly, and that means taking the rough with the smooth. Her severely disabled son, however, deserves no such ire, because he's done nothing wrong. He can't defend himself. Be controversial, piss people off, if that's your role as a comedian: but choose your targets properly.
There's so much more to this issue: about privilege and who are a bunch of white people to get pissed off about racial epithets and the Daily Mail shouting about how he should be banned and - of course Frankie Boyle shouldn't be banned. That'd give him immense satisfaction for a start, and also there's a freedom of speech issue that you're all too aware of.
No, this rant is one of disappointment. Frankie Boyle is very intelligent, he has a way with one-liners, and he certainly doesn't need to turn into a bland observational no-mark. It's the fact he's after the collective annoyance of people who don't even watch his fucking show but read about it in the papers, rather than the laugh, that's wearying. He could do so much better. If only he'd use his brain a bit more.
Monday, 20 December 2010
But I already sang that song
It's traditional for blogs to put up their reviews of the year at this point, with their favourite records/tv shows/books/whathaveyou. Unfortunately I can't do the same, as my biggest discoveries of the past 12 months have been a bloke who started releasing music when I was two years old and a tv series that started in 1994.
Not that this is a blog about tedious nostalgia with a remit that the past is far better than anything in the future, because that's frankly untrue, but this year I've totally lost the thread of what's new and cool and happening. I don't really care, either. I'll get back to it at some point.
The bloke who started releasing music in 1984 is, of course, Lloyd Cole. He started off with The Commotions and later went solo, and I suspect I wasn't the first to find my way to his music through Camera Obscura's song Lloyd, I'm Ready To Be Heartbroken. At the start of the year I picked up the first Commotions album, fell in love with all of it but especially the title track, and...
The rest was almost history. I wasn't going to peruse his work further until last.fm threw Lloyd's solo single Don't Look Back at me and it was like a tiny revelation. The way he sang it, and the words he was singing, did that thing that's become so hackneyed you don't think it really happens. Then it does, and for four minutes the entire world vanishes and all that matters is the song, and that you've been lucky enough to find and hear it, and it by the end you're a little bit more in love with music than you were before even if you didn't think that was possible.
After that I went about collecting his discography. I haven't found an album I've hated, and he has quite a few - Love Story, The Negatives and the self-titled solo album being my favourites. He did actually release an album this year, Broken Record, continuing in his vein of lovely mostly acoustic stuff. I will say his work isn't the most original in the world - the later solo albums sound mostly like just a man with a guitar, and the live shows this year were entirely acoustic - but there's something about it that lifts it above 9,000,000 other men with guitars. There's more to Lloyd Cole's music than I could hope to capture in writing about it. Maybe that's why I love it so much.
Speaking of the live shows, I was lucky enough to get to his gig in Glasgow. I almost didn't, due to transport idiocy and catching the plane from Belfast with minutes to spare, but it was totally worth the stress and schlepping across the country at 5am because if I ever see a better gig I'll be the luckiest fool alive. The venue, the voice, the arrangements, the love for the performer... it was an absolutely perfect gig. Also, like all the best melancholy singers, he's actually a funny bastard. He played Don't Look Back and I thought my heart might burst; he played Trigger Happy and I nearly broke my face smiling. That gig made the entire year worthwhile.
Broken Record isn't on Spotify, so here's a link to the album with Don't Look Back instead. Enjoy. Or not. You don't have to, obviously; I'm just too biased to be in any way critical!
My telly habits haven't been much better at being current, either. Unless you count mocking The X Factor, and you really shouldn't because I'm only there for the scathing mockery (I'm sure it's been covered elsewhere how unbearable that show would be without the hilarity that ensues on twitter). However, thanks to a friend selling boxsets I have discovered ER. Look, I did say this was going back to 1994. It's a very wonderful series and I only wish I'd known sooner. I love the cast, I love the characters they play, I love the supporting ensemble, I'm dying to know what happens, and I finally get the George Clooney thing although to be honest I'd rather have Anthony Edwards. I'm strange, yes, but I also love the character of Mark Greene to an unreasonable degree. Yes, I'm aware of what's coming in season eight...
Even my gaming habits aren't terribly up to date. Most of my button bashing right now is courtesy of Sonic Colours and Donkey Kong Country Returns, which at least came out in the last month, but the reason I love them is because they're so in the spirit of old-skool platformers. Oh and for Christmas? Mario All-Stars. Back to the 80s again.
It's not intentional, this being stuck in the past thing. It just worked out that way. The present isn't rubbish, and the future isn't to be dreaded. It's just not that inspirational right now. There's a whole shiny new year coming up though, to try a little harder!
Not that this is a blog about tedious nostalgia with a remit that the past is far better than anything in the future, because that's frankly untrue, but this year I've totally lost the thread of what's new and cool and happening. I don't really care, either. I'll get back to it at some point.
The bloke who started releasing music in 1984 is, of course, Lloyd Cole. He started off with The Commotions and later went solo, and I suspect I wasn't the first to find my way to his music through Camera Obscura's song Lloyd, I'm Ready To Be Heartbroken. At the start of the year I picked up the first Commotions album, fell in love with all of it but especially the title track, and...
The rest was almost history. I wasn't going to peruse his work further until last.fm threw Lloyd's solo single Don't Look Back at me and it was like a tiny revelation. The way he sang it, and the words he was singing, did that thing that's become so hackneyed you don't think it really happens. Then it does, and for four minutes the entire world vanishes and all that matters is the song, and that you've been lucky enough to find and hear it, and it by the end you're a little bit more in love with music than you were before even if you didn't think that was possible.
After that I went about collecting his discography. I haven't found an album I've hated, and he has quite a few - Love Story, The Negatives and the self-titled solo album being my favourites. He did actually release an album this year, Broken Record, continuing in his vein of lovely mostly acoustic stuff. I will say his work isn't the most original in the world - the later solo albums sound mostly like just a man with a guitar, and the live shows this year were entirely acoustic - but there's something about it that lifts it above 9,000,000 other men with guitars. There's more to Lloyd Cole's music than I could hope to capture in writing about it. Maybe that's why I love it so much.
Speaking of the live shows, I was lucky enough to get to his gig in Glasgow. I almost didn't, due to transport idiocy and catching the plane from Belfast with minutes to spare, but it was totally worth the stress and schlepping across the country at 5am because if I ever see a better gig I'll be the luckiest fool alive. The venue, the voice, the arrangements, the love for the performer... it was an absolutely perfect gig. Also, like all the best melancholy singers, he's actually a funny bastard. He played Don't Look Back and I thought my heart might burst; he played Trigger Happy and I nearly broke my face smiling. That gig made the entire year worthwhile.
Broken Record isn't on Spotify, so here's a link to the album with Don't Look Back instead. Enjoy. Or not. You don't have to, obviously; I'm just too biased to be in any way critical!
My telly habits haven't been much better at being current, either. Unless you count mocking The X Factor, and you really shouldn't because I'm only there for the scathing mockery (I'm sure it's been covered elsewhere how unbearable that show would be without the hilarity that ensues on twitter). However, thanks to a friend selling boxsets I have discovered ER. Look, I did say this was going back to 1994. It's a very wonderful series and I only wish I'd known sooner. I love the cast, I love the characters they play, I love the supporting ensemble, I'm dying to know what happens, and I finally get the George Clooney thing although to be honest I'd rather have Anthony Edwards. I'm strange, yes, but I also love the character of Mark Greene to an unreasonable degree. Yes, I'm aware of what's coming in season eight...
Even my gaming habits aren't terribly up to date. Most of my button bashing right now is courtesy of Sonic Colours and Donkey Kong Country Returns, which at least came out in the last month, but the reason I love them is because they're so in the spirit of old-skool platformers. Oh and for Christmas? Mario All-Stars. Back to the 80s again.
It's not intentional, this being stuck in the past thing. It just worked out that way. The present isn't rubbish, and the future isn't to be dreaded. It's just not that inspirational right now. There's a whole shiny new year coming up though, to try a little harder!
Sunday, 19 December 2010
Christmassyness
My first piece is the one I was asked for - it's something I did for a writing class. The subject was "alternative Christmas", meaning no sleighbells, no Santa, no twee stuff. But a very wise band told us It's Cliched To Be Cynical At Christmas, so a bag of ire wasn't going to be much of an alternative either. So I came up with this - it's not overjoyed, it's not entirely cynical. Hope you like.
~
Christmas can be quite a strange time for an atheist, at least in the early years after you work out that's what you are. It takes a while to work out exactly what you're celebrating. Or if you're actually allowed to celebrate. In the end, as I'm on the Humanist end of atheism, I decided I'd use Christmas to celebrate people – and as a reminder.
I'll explain that. When I was younger, Christmas was far busier than it is now in our house. People seemed to be in and out all day, in various states of good-natured intoxication of course, and there were more people at dinner, and more people to visit. These days, there aren't so many. As I've gotten older, Christmas has become smaller and smaller. It's not just rose-tinted nostalgia: so many of those people simply aren't there any more.
It's normal at this time of year, regardless of your beliefs, to get sad and miss those people. It is sad, but personally I like to remember them as they were at Christmas: happy, glad to see you, enjoying a truly carefree day. Christmas for some heralds the arrival of massive rows along with the family; but in our house it was the day when we set everything that was bothering us aside, and that's the tradition I'd like to pass on most.
That shouldn't just happen at Christmas though. Which is where the reminder part comes in. After seeing a lot of American friends celebrate Thanksgiving, I expressed the wish that we have a similar day – that we shouldn't need a reason to practice gratitude, but it'd be nice to have a day geared towards reminding us. Christmas is the same. People talk of the spirit of Christmas, of helping out the less fortunate at this time of year, of spending time with their family. All wonderful things, but they shouldn't be confined to Christmas.
You don't need a holiday to be kind to people, or to spend time with your family, or to appreciate what you have. Sometimes we all need the reminder, myself included, but goodwill doesn't have to start and end with Christmas. Handily enough, this attitude is also good for people who try to force you into their version of Christmas spirit when you really can't be arsed – if you do your best, and you know you do your best, then that's the important part and you can leave the showing it off and Santa hats to the others.
Not that there's a right way or wrong way to celebrate, or not celebrate. Religious or not religious, owner of a ridiculous hat or person most likely to be called Scrooge by your friends, it doesn't matter. Everyone gets so caught up in the hype, those who dislike it get caught up too in reaction to having the festivities shoved in their faces so often, and nobody publicly acknowledges that Christmas is a sad time of year, too. It's a strange side-effect of modern culture. But underneath all that, regardless of the differences, regardless of belief – if you strip it back enough the message is the same. Christmas is about the people you love. Not how much you spend on them, just the fact you have loved ones in the first place. If they're far away, it hurts. If they're gone, it hurts. That's normal, and nobody should have to pretend it doesn't hurt like hell for the sake of a holiday.
I'm going to close this ramble with a quote from Ben Goldacre (you know, the Bad Science guy, amazing hair). This is his response a couple of years ago when he was asked what he'd be thinking about at Christmas. "...I'm going to be thinking about what a magical and amazing place the world is without any recourse to nonsense; that people can get pain relief simply from taking a sugar pill, or a salt-water injection; that we can have an almost psychic sense that a friend is in trouble, from barely perceptible unconscious social cues; that improbable things really do happen; and people really can meet, and fall in love, with a depth so great that it feels as if it was always meant to be. These are all things to be celebrated, because even if there is no destiny and no magic, the effects are the same."
Merry Christmas, however you celebrate it, whatever you call it.
~
Christmas can be quite a strange time for an atheist, at least in the early years after you work out that's what you are. It takes a while to work out exactly what you're celebrating. Or if you're actually allowed to celebrate. In the end, as I'm on the Humanist end of atheism, I decided I'd use Christmas to celebrate people – and as a reminder.
I'll explain that. When I was younger, Christmas was far busier than it is now in our house. People seemed to be in and out all day, in various states of good-natured intoxication of course, and there were more people at dinner, and more people to visit. These days, there aren't so many. As I've gotten older, Christmas has become smaller and smaller. It's not just rose-tinted nostalgia: so many of those people simply aren't there any more.
It's normal at this time of year, regardless of your beliefs, to get sad and miss those people. It is sad, but personally I like to remember them as they were at Christmas: happy, glad to see you, enjoying a truly carefree day. Christmas for some heralds the arrival of massive rows along with the family; but in our house it was the day when we set everything that was bothering us aside, and that's the tradition I'd like to pass on most.
That shouldn't just happen at Christmas though. Which is where the reminder part comes in. After seeing a lot of American friends celebrate Thanksgiving, I expressed the wish that we have a similar day – that we shouldn't need a reason to practice gratitude, but it'd be nice to have a day geared towards reminding us. Christmas is the same. People talk of the spirit of Christmas, of helping out the less fortunate at this time of year, of spending time with their family. All wonderful things, but they shouldn't be confined to Christmas.
You don't need a holiday to be kind to people, or to spend time with your family, or to appreciate what you have. Sometimes we all need the reminder, myself included, but goodwill doesn't have to start and end with Christmas. Handily enough, this attitude is also good for people who try to force you into their version of Christmas spirit when you really can't be arsed – if you do your best, and you know you do your best, then that's the important part and you can leave the showing it off and Santa hats to the others.
Not that there's a right way or wrong way to celebrate, or not celebrate. Religious or not religious, owner of a ridiculous hat or person most likely to be called Scrooge by your friends, it doesn't matter. Everyone gets so caught up in the hype, those who dislike it get caught up too in reaction to having the festivities shoved in their faces so often, and nobody publicly acknowledges that Christmas is a sad time of year, too. It's a strange side-effect of modern culture. But underneath all that, regardless of the differences, regardless of belief – if you strip it back enough the message is the same. Christmas is about the people you love. Not how much you spend on them, just the fact you have loved ones in the first place. If they're far away, it hurts. If they're gone, it hurts. That's normal, and nobody should have to pretend it doesn't hurt like hell for the sake of a holiday.
I'm going to close this ramble with a quote from Ben Goldacre (you know, the Bad Science guy, amazing hair). This is his response a couple of years ago when he was asked what he'd be thinking about at Christmas. "...I'm going to be thinking about what a magical and amazing place the world is without any recourse to nonsense; that people can get pain relief simply from taking a sugar pill, or a salt-water injection; that we can have an almost psychic sense that a friend is in trouble, from barely perceptible unconscious social cues; that improbable things really do happen; and people really can meet, and fall in love, with a depth so great that it feels as if it was always meant to be. These are all things to be celebrated, because even if there is no destiny and no magic, the effects are the same."
Merry Christmas, however you celebrate it, whatever you call it.
A little trigger happy
A request to read a piece I'd written recently led me to realise I don't have a public blog for random thoughts any more. This is a strange thing for someone who's been updating online journals for over 10 years, since the heyday of (excuse me) Diaryland, through the peak of Livejournal and now onto Twitter.
Oh yeah, and about Twitter, I'm clearly tweeting too much, and I know what that means - it's because I'm not writing. When I'm not writing my tweets get multiple and my text messages get epic, so it's time to blog.
So me then. I'm Kerrie, or Kez. I like things and I'm going to write about them. More specifically I like... well probably what you like, music and telly and books (rubbish at films though so won't write about those much). I also like gaming, but I'm pretty much Nintendo only these days so if there's fun stuff on the Wii or DS I'll write about that. I also like ice hockey and might write about that occasionally, although it won't be very often.
The blog (and my twitter account, and former tumblr account) name is taken from a Lloyd Cole lyric. As is the title of this update. Be warned; you will hear about Lloyd Cole if you come back regularly, as he is my favourite musician and singer and bloke who makes jangly music.
Other than that there will hopefully be blogging on media stuff, internetty stuff, and whatever else takes me fancy. It's not much of a remit but I'm trying not to limit myself! So, welcome, enjoy, hopefully you'll find something you like!
Oh yeah, and about Twitter, I'm clearly tweeting too much, and I know what that means - it's because I'm not writing. When I'm not writing my tweets get multiple and my text messages get epic, so it's time to blog.
So me then. I'm Kerrie, or Kez. I like things and I'm going to write about them. More specifically I like... well probably what you like, music and telly and books (rubbish at films though so won't write about those much). I also like gaming, but I'm pretty much Nintendo only these days so if there's fun stuff on the Wii or DS I'll write about that. I also like ice hockey and might write about that occasionally, although it won't be very often.
The blog (and my twitter account, and former tumblr account) name is taken from a Lloyd Cole lyric. As is the title of this update. Be warned; you will hear about Lloyd Cole if you come back regularly, as he is my favourite musician and singer and bloke who makes jangly music.
Other than that there will hopefully be blogging on media stuff, internetty stuff, and whatever else takes me fancy. It's not much of a remit but I'm trying not to limit myself! So, welcome, enjoy, hopefully you'll find something you like!
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