I'm Jack Black, man.

After High Fidelity, my friends accused me (rightly) of being Barry. This is true, for I am as much of a rock geek as he is, although I like to think I'm at least kinder to fans of stuff I hate, if not the makers (Robbie and the Bald Antichrist, for example).

However, since watching School of Rock this evening, I can say with no shame that I am basically Jack Black without the crap shirts. I am currently searching for a v. cheap bass guitar on ebay and I have another idea for a song in my head (it's only got a title so far: No Child Prodigy). And once more I am reminded that I want to be a rock and roll star. A really big rock and roll star. I want to be Robert Plant, Jim Morrison, John Lennon and some other people all put together with a bit of Debbie Harry, cos you know: chick what rocks.

Don't get me wrong, fame and fortune are all very well, and the fortune as far as I'm concerned is there simply to make life easier. I just want to sing for people. I know I've said it many times before and one day I might actually do something about it, but all I want to do is move people like the Percys, Jims and Lennons of the world have moved me so absolutely, so profoundly. I want to spend my life on a stage, sweaty and tired, sometimes in a studio on the verge of boredom or being forced to answer banal questions for the fiftieth time by lazy interviewers. I want to see the world from a tour bus and a plane. I want to experience room service as it should be: champagne by the case and madman riding motorbikes up the corridors. I want to sing, man. Knowing that the brats in School of Rock are already way better than me would really fuck me off if I hadn't been so entertained.

So, gods of Rock and Roll (Jim, are you listening?) I ask you this: tell me what to do, and I shall do it. I am your least humble servant and I shall do your bidding as long as it is in synch with my creative opinions and I get to wear leather trousers. Amen.

*

Oh yeah, went to see my godfather (apparently it turns out this is a pretty busy time for Catholic priests. Who knew?) and my granddad today. My mum drove us from Kew to N. London through posh ol' Chelsea, past the Houses of Parliament, down a tunnel that once made up part of the tram system decades ago, through some more posh bits and into the less posh bits before arriving at my grandad's. Then our car broke down. Recovery Dude came out, just put some more oil in it and it was all cool. Suggested we keep some oil in the car in future. That was a fucking dull anecdote, wasn't it?

I'm Jack Black, man.

After High Fidelity, my friends accused me (rightly) of being Barry. This is true, for I am as much of a rock geek as he is, although I like to think I'm at least kinder to fans of stuff I hate, if not the makers (Robbie and the Bald Antichrist, for example).

However, since watching School of Rock this evening, I can say with no shame that I am basically Jack Black without the crap shirts. I am currently searching for a v. cheap bass guitar on ebay and I have another idea for a song in my head (it's only got a title so far: No Child Prodigy). And once more I am reminded that I want to be a rock and roll star. A really big rock and roll star. I want to be Robert Plant, Jim Morrison, John Lennon and some other people all put together with a bit of Debbie Harry, cos you know: chick what rocks.

Don't get me wrong, fame and fortune are all very well, and the fortune as far as I'm concerned is there simply to make life easier. I just want to sing for people. I know I've said it many times before and one day I might actually do something about it, but all I want to do is move people like the Percys, Jims and Lennons of the world have moved me so absolutely, so profoundly. I want to spend my life on a stage, sweaty and tired, sometimes in a studio on the verge of boredom or being forced to answer banal questions for the fiftieth time by lazy interviewers. I want to see the world from a tour bus and a plane. I want to experience room service as it should be: champagne by the case and madman riding motorbikes up the corridors. I want to sing, man. Knowing that the brats in School of Rock are already way better than me would really fuck me off if I hadn't been so entertained.

So, gods of Rock and Roll (Jim, are you listening?) I ask you this: tell me what to do, and I shall do it. I am your least humble servant and I shall do your bidding as long as it is in synch with my creative opinions and I get to wear leather trousers. Amen.

*

Oh yeah, went to see my godfather (apparently it turns out this is a pretty busy time for Catholic priests. Who knew?) and my granddad today. My mum drove us from Kew to N. London through posh ol' Chelsea, past the Houses of Parliament, down a tunnel that once made up part of the tram system decades ago, through some more posh bits and into the less posh bits before arriving at my grandad's. Then our car broke down. Recovery Dude came out, just put some more oil in it and it was all cool. Suggested we keep some oil in the car in future. That was a fucking dull anecdote, wasn't it?

Memetime for the bored and annoyed.

My mum is on a superspree to make us 'de-junk' our house. Yes, it's cluttered and that, but seeing as half of it's hers I don't see why we have to sort it out all the time. I've got rid of some videos (Her: "If you're collecting DVDs now, why don't you get rid of all your videos?" Someone explain to her, please.) and a whole bunch of books. I'll get rid of more too.... and all her stuff will in all likelihood stay where it is- scattered around her house. And it's never her fault. The papers piled here and there, well they must be my dad's... We get spyware on our computer, she blames Mikey. Lots of random stuff, must be mine... etc etc etc. Now, I know I have a lot of stuff, but it's all videos and CDs and things I really really love. I understand where she's getting at with things I've not touched for years, which is why I've got rid of stuff without complaint. But it would be nice to see her stuff go as well.

So in honour of the micro-rant,I present you with a meme borrowed from lissinthecity:

( 21 Questions )

Memetime for the bored and annoyed.

My mum is on a superspree to make us 'de-junk' our house. Yes, it's cluttered and that, but seeing as half of it's hers I don't see why we have to sort it out all the time. I've got rid of some videos (Her: "If you're collecting DVDs now, why don't you get rid of all your videos?" Someone explain to her, please.) and a whole bunch of books. I'll get rid of more too.... and all her stuff will in all likelihood stay where it is- scattered around her house. And it's never her fault. The papers piled here and there, well they must be my dad's... We get spyware on our computer, she blames Mikey. Lots of random stuff, must be mine... etc etc etc. Now, I know I have a lot of stuff, but it's all videos and CDs and things I really really love. I understand where she's getting at with things I've not touched for years, which is why I've got rid of stuff without complaint. But it would be nice to see her stuff go as well.

So in honour of the micro-rant,I present you with a meme borrowed from lissinthecity:

( 21 Questions )