Whinges of a Hug Slut

I was going to post about being back from Tallinn and being ill and how awful travelling when ill is, but then Blogger spent half an hour trying to persuade me to create a Google account just so I could blog, and I lost all the energy I had just trying to get round it. So I might do that later. Right after I find someone else to blog with, cos sooner or later, using Blogger without a Google account isn't going to be an option any more.

I am in Tallinn. It is cold. I am ill. Bloody typical. Home tomorrow. Not looking forward to travelling ill. Need hugs and strokes. Rory ill too. Bleugh. Send hugs.

The snow finally came to Leeds last night. It started out soft and fine, almost as if talc was falling from the sky. By half past 11, when I left the Ladyfest Leeds benefit, throat sore from trying to draw attention to our tombola and still not being over my cough / cold, it was falling thick and fast. And settling. Walking up to Amy's house for the post-gig party, people were having snowball fights in the roads at midnight, balls of crushed snow flying through the air, smashing on people's jackets, heads, feet, bare arms... I jumped on some mis-aimed ones in my wellies, globes exploding under the weight of my boots.

This morning it was raining. Long and hard and relentless. All the snow is already gone. And each road has a small river running along each of its edges. Not quite as good, but still wonderful to watch.

In the middle of another fit of despair about college. These happen periodically still. Issues currently bothering me:

I need to select an essay title on which to write for Critical Studies. This can be absolutely anything at all, provided it's related in some way to art and design. Decisions have never been my strong point. Over the last three weeks I have been adopting and consequently disposing of possible titles at an unprecedented rate. One needs to be chosen. And soon.
My video optional module started last night. We have to work in groups of two to four. I do not do group work. And the amount of work we are expected to do is enormous, I do not have the time for it, especially as Ladyfest Leeds occurs two thirds of the way through.
If I change optional modules, what will I choose instead? The options remaining are animation and web design. Animation could be as bad as video, but it is a level one option, not level two (and I didn't do video at level one). There are two levels to choose web design from. Level one will be far too easy for me, level two might be trying to push me in areas I don't want to go, and anyway, design was never my strong point.
We have to enter the D&AD competition. I am not particularly interested in doing so, but it is a large percentage of my marks for the year. I have done barely no work on my brief, three weeks in, and time is running out.

My natural inclination is to curl up and ignore everything. This is obviously not the best approach to take. My second instinct is to quit the course, curl up and ignore everything. This is probably even worse. Why do I always fall and the first hint of a hurdle, let alone a true one? Why am I so indecisive, unsure and, to be blatant, pathetic? What went wrong? And more to the point, what do I do about college?

Note to self: Going and taking photographs of monogamous couples doing sexy things with each other is likely to result in a very frustrating evening. Remember this next time.

Found myself in London on Thursday. Arrived just after lunchtime and after spending only a minimal amount of time lost in Kings Cross, went straight off to the V&A. Fuck me, I've never seen a building like it. Every last bit of it has ornamental decoration and sculpture covering it. It's like they took a Victorian stereotype, upped it to the max, and applied it to every section of wall they could find. Most, most bizarre.

I only really looked at their photography section, which was far too small for my liking (about the size of one small room), before heading out, just to spot a Medieval plaster cast section. Figuring they may have something pagany I could see, I went in. There was some crosses with Celtic designs from graveyards which were quite pretty, but really, the whole room was the epitome of the museum: over-done, over-decorated, flamboyant and utterly, utterly mental. There's a few photos of the kind of things I mean on the link. I reckon there can't have been too much for sculptors in the Dark Ages, and they had to make every job last as long as possible, thus making every piece over-complex to the n-th degree. It's the only explanation I can think of.

I finally managed to leave the building, went for a little walk, and found myself by Harrods. I was tempted to go in with their promises of a sale and the prospect of cheap knickers, but I figured trying to find my way to Rough Trade might provide me with goods at a slightly more affordable price, no matter how good the Harrods sale might be.

I had drawn a map of how to find the shop from the nearest tube stations before I left Leeds, but even so I managed to get lost. I was lost on Portabello Road though, so at least it was a nice place to lose myself in. I found my way in the end but didn't buy anything, there not being anything I wanted at a cheap enough price for my stingy student pocket. The shop itself was amazing though. If the V&A is the ultimate in Victorian design, Rough Trade must be the ultimate in record shop design. Every last space was filled with CDs or records or posters or magazines. Or all at the same time. And in a space the size of a shoebox.

By now it was heading towards teatime and I was tiring, so I went off to Paddington to sit and read for an hour and await the purpose of my visit: meeting a friend from San Francisco who was in London on business for a week. He eventually turned up, we stopped in his hotel room to drop my bags off, and then we went out for dinner at Eat and Two Veg. The food was good, but by that point I would have eaten almost anything. The berry crumble and custard we shared for dessert was lovely however. Afterwards we went back to his hotel room and proceeded to have a night of hot sex. Well we had to burn off the crumble calories somehow... Then in the morning we woke up and did the same again. Unfortunately he was flying back to the States at lunchtime so we didn't have nearly enough time for all our fondling and the like, but it was agreed that if we were ever in each other's vicinities again, we would definitely get in touch.

I spent the afternoon at the Tate. I was wanting to see an exhibition of art by homeless people but I couldn't find it and was too embarrassed to ask. Instead I spent far too long in their bookshop but managed to come away with only book - the catalogue for the Frida Kahlo exhibition I went to 18 months ago but hadn't been able to afford at the time. It was originally priced £35 but was now in a sale at £8. Bargain!

I headed back off to Kings Cross straight away and got there well in time for my train back to Leeds. Only for them to cancel it. Train failure or some such. I was furious, and so were a couple of hundred other people who were booked onto it. We all ended up having to pile on to the next train, along with all the people booked on to it themselves. And the train wasn't working properly so we had to go slowly. I didn't get in until 10 past 6. I wasn't a happy bunny.

But I did have a great time and that was the important thing. I took some chances, dared to be adventurous, and it paid off. Now to just find some girlies for similar excursions who live a little bit closer to home...

Returning to college from holidays is always a bastard, and the start of the spring term has been no exception. In my month off I had forgotten just how inane my fellow students are, how much I really prefer my lie-ins, how great it is to forget about deadlines and marks and credits and critical diaries and lectures. All brought back to harrowing reality this week. Bleugh. Four weeks to half term, four weeks to half term, four weeks to half term... A personal mantra which may get me through. Or may just end up stuck in my head, like annoying song lyrics. Still, anything's better than wandering around singing "'Cos I'm running around like a chicken with its head cut off" to myself incessantly.

During Rory's visit I was forced to rejoin the gym. Yes, forced, I tell you. I knew I had become unfit again but I wasn't aware of just how bad it had become until I attempted some of the exercises I was perfectly capable of performing when last a member approximately 2 years ago, and saw just how miserably I was failing. Still, going to the gym is now another excuse not to do college work, so it can't be all that bad. And similarly I can use doing college work as an excuse not to go to the gym. I win both ways!

This has been a particularly good year for Christmas presents, seeing as my brother wanted expensive computer parts for his gifts, and my parents feel compelled to spend approximately equal amounts on us both. Thus I have managed to acrue:

Several bars of chocolate
Several hodgeheg ornaments
The Dark Magus and the Sacred Whore by Mark Ramsden
Ella Minnow Pea by Mark Dunn
Picturing and Poeting by Alan Fletcher
Cindy Sherman: The Complete Untitled Film Stills by, unsurprisingly, Cindy Sherman
Living Out Loud: An Activity Book to Fuel a Creative Life by Keri Smith
My Secret by Frank Warren
Fotolog.Book: A Global Snapshot for the Digital Age
Choose a Bright Morning by Jeniferever
Secret Language by Je Ne Sais Quoi
Gwei-Lo by Gwei-Lo
Drowning in a Sea of Love by Nathan Fake
She Wants Revenge by She Wants Revenge
Stratosfear by Unisex
Fear of Magnetism by Stratus
The Black Tango by Boy Omega
Galapagos by Collectors
When Sun Falls on My Feet by Starlet
Empty Houses Are Lonely by Tom Brosseau
Parsley Sounds by Parsley Sounds
Soundtracks for Living by Gentle People
and a trip to Norway.

Excellent

Last night I made my DJing debut at Suck My Left One. I'd agreed to only do it if I could go on first, ensuring the only people I'd be making a fool of myself in front of would be all the people I know and the bar staff. Why this is better than making a fool of myself in front of a room full of people I don't know and am unlikely to meet again, I don't know, but as with most sarahlogic, it's best not to question these things too closely or my fragile system of self belief might crumble into dust at my feet.

The evening was a relative success. I managed to blow nothing up, set nothing on fire or render irreparable any items of expensive musical equipment. Still, there's time to factor that into my set in future. I played Mercury Rev, the Bellrays, 60ft Dolls, Mo-Ho-Bish-O-Pi, Golden Virgins, Smashing Pumpkins (though I picked up the wrong CD by mistake - that's what happens when bands insist on releasing double albums), Bright Eyes, the Avalanches, and quite a few more. It was fun, and I'll probably do it again in the future. It was hard picking what to play though, as most of the music I've been listening to of late has been laid back, quiet music, and not what you'd want to play in a club.

Musical highlight of the evening has to be Ferg playing Fairytale of New York, a perennial favourite, if only for the opportunity to sling insults at your friends whilst waving your arms around, singing at the top of your voice and drinking gallons of Guinness (has to be Guinness, it doesn't work with anything else).

Non-musical highlight of the evening was discovering that if you hold some mistletoe over your head and point yourself towards some pretty people, there's a good chance you might get a snog. Why I didn't think of this technique earlier I don't know. Now all I need to do is work out how to preserve the mistletoe to stop it going off before next month. Or how to get more than a snog. Maybe a whole bush of it is required?

My dad brought round a suitcase yesterday. It's the suitcase I filled full of stuff and left in their garage when I initially moved out, 8 years ago. He said he was clearing out the garage and didn't want it any more. So now I have my own time capsule, full of the things which were important to me when I was 17, but not so important that I had to take them with me. Items of secondary importance.

I haven't had a proper look through it yet, there's so much stuff in there, and I have been busy. Things I have spotted though: my old school blouse, the one worn on the last day of term of the last year, when people always wrote messages on it for you; the fish tanks Claire and I made from all the Tic Tacs boxes we accumulated from our Tic Tacs obsession; a blue baseball cap which I have no idea of the origin or meaning of; several old Manics fanzines; the 2 issues of the fanzine I produced when I was 15 and thought Publisher was the ultimate in DTP; several issues of the NME with large Manics articles in them (pre-1995); all my diaries, age 11 to 16; my school rough books; what appears to be all the letters people sent me asking to buy a copy of my fanzine; a guitar tuition book; my first pair of Docs; the embroidered felt tapestry I made in Art, aged 12; a pair of headphones (again, for no obvious reason).

If I was to make a time capsule now of all the secondary important items, to be opened in 2014, assuming that the Mayans aren't correct and we aren't all going to die two years previous to that, what would I put in it? And how could I be sure that I'd know what they all meant to me now? How can we avoid obsolescence?