While I was assembling her new bed, Nina decided to write about herself.

"Tryphena is marvellous, I just want to go on and on about her. She's beautiful, she can use chopsticks, she writes like a god, her style astounds me and she walks with a regal stride. If she was a cat she'd be a Siamese. She has godlike music taste and reads the best books. When she wakes up in the morning she reminds me of a dormouse. If I was a woman I'd want to be her, instead all I ever want to do is fuck her."

Then later, while I was catching up on the last couple of issues of Global Frequency, the following confusingly meta commentary was added:

"While I was building her bed, Nina decided to write about herself. Egotistical bitch."

Thus I have been saved the task of composing my own sweet prose poem of adoration, since none of the above self-descriptions are entirely inaccurate. Well, except the bit about the chopsticks. And the music taste, I mean the woman owns Muse CDs for crying out loud. Mind you, I own a Texas album and in fact I'm sure my record collection holds more dodgy secrets than anyone I know... But I digress. I think my point was going to be that the reason the two of us are made for each other is that no-one else would put up with our insanity, and tendency to behave like small children. But y'know, that last one mainly in a good way. In that "Kingdom of Heaven, ye may not enter, blah blah blah unless you become like" way, see?

Bizarre moment of telepathy, or just shared taste, with kick just the other day:

Me: if I do make it this Friday, the tune I'm going to be shouting for is Chicks On Speed's cover of 'Wordy Rappinghood'. it's like a huge electro-DIY-feminist-art playground chant posse cut!

He: musical borg moment... though still haven't gotten round to posting up listings... played 'wordy rappinghood' at last Lo-Res! GO PSYCHIC RADIO!

While I'm quoting the man, I should point out that I'm dying to try out the following on a dancefloor near you very soon:

initiated a new form of in-disco entertainment - rules were to stand around looking bored until one or other counted down from three (mid-song) upon which everyone involved would throw themselves immediately into full-on going-for-it freak out dancing. it was ludicrously amusing to those in the know, but probably somewhat disconcerting for innocent bystanders - which made it even better, natch.

Hey everyone! It's '100 Reasons Why Speakerboxxx/The Love Below is the album of the year unless Chicks On Speed or Basement Jaxx can trump it', numbers 13-20!

13. The way 'The Way You Move' is the kind of unassuming number that sounds relatively familiar at first but gets stuck in your head, and what's actually going on in there becomes increasingly impressive with each listen...

14. The way that track deserves, nay DEMANDS to be heard on the dancefloors of the most cheesy, wedding-reception-esque nightspots in the world, so that drunken couples can tango, waltz or salsa to it, clumsily.

15. How 'Tomb Of The Bomb' shoots up in quality when Ludacris comes in. Sure, it's a dope beat, but he's the first person on there who does it justice. And of course he starts by saying his own name. Say the name!

16. To quote someone on I Love Music, the way: "Andre was like half-awake with a girl in his bed when he wrote most of those songs, whereas Big Boi sounds like he was mainlining espresso the whole time."

17. The little "You know what to doo-woo-hoo" bits on 'Hey Ya!'.

18. The way the guitar on 'Prototype' wouldn't sound out of place on Siamese Dream (I think 'Mayonnaise' is the equivalent Pumpkins track that I'm thinking of).

19. "Let's go... to the movies", followed by the (sampled?) call of "Action!", on the same song.

20. And again, the ad libs on 'Prototype' - "stank you, smelly much" - they're daft as hell but the impression it creates is of the kind of romantic silliness that makes couples talk to each other in silly voices or their own secret coded language.

(By the way, Chicks On Speed have given it a good shot, but I think Speakerboxxx has the edge on 99 cents. Just.)

I've been promising to post about Nina (aka Red, aka Tryphena Sparks, aka a whole other bunch of names I'm not going to invoke mainly just 'cos the internet is a strange and complex place). Doing this online at all is strange... But I feel it's only fair, and proper, and blah blah blah equality. I will talk about the girl herself when I can find the words, but for now... Small ways in which Nina has improved my life.

I have started using exfoliating facewash. Stop laughing. This is something I blanched at - and it was then pointed out to me that for someone who likes to strive towards 'progressive' or 'liberal' attitudes towards gender roles, I have a pretty restricted idea of what skin products are appropriate for the modern identifies-as-hetero-and-male person. So in comes another item to the row of products on the bathroom shelf... And it makes a difference! It really does.

In fact, I'm feeling better about my appearance in general. I've lost a little weight, too. This is partly due to cutting down on beer, partly due to eating better food.

I own a linen basket, and The Royal Tenenbaums on video.

That'll have to do for now, I'm out of time.

Things to read 1:

Mimi Nguyen reviews James Spooner's documentary Afro-Punk: The "Rock and Roll Nigger" Experience at Worse Than Queer. Here's a big sample just in case you're a lazy sod and don't follow these links:

Biracial Mariko Jones insists she is glad her friends tell her, "You don't act like a black person, you don't act like an Asian person. You're just Mariko." Because no one has ever called her "nigger" or barred her from a show, she doesn't seem to believe that race or racism has an impact on her interactions in punk, and says, a bit reproachfully, "I feel like the ones complaining are the ones who aren't doing anything." But her sentiments are contradicted in a series of cuts to interviews that powerfully (in both quality and quantity) argue otherwise. A young woman outside a club notes, "A lot of white people put black people in categories, like the safe black person." Laughing, she continues, "A lot of people mistake me for that safe black person." As one subject notes, while punk rock answered for a part of his alienation, it highlighted another aspect -- being black in a white-dominated scene. The interviewees testify to the range of racisms reinforcing punk rock silence about race. Many mentioned former friends who believed that every other black person except him or her qualified as a "nigger." With palpable disgust, another targets the color-blindness of righteous punk rockers, "anarchists [who tell me] their politics transcend race and gender." And Chicagoan Rachel sums up this frustration with punk rock's racial politics: "People are not trying to have a dialogue with you, but they do want to tokenize you. People want a multicultural vision of punk rock, and they want to showcase you, 'Look at all the Negros!' But at the same time they don't want to deal with you as a person who experiences race."

On a shallower note, be sure to check out Worse Than Queer's snazzy new electro-pop design aesthetic while you're at it...

all day I dream, all day I dream

A good weekend. Yet *again* I am frustrated by my inability to, y'know, get things done - I keep thinking of that scene in This Life where young lawyer Egg is assigned to deliver some papers to chambers, and somehow ends up daydreaming in parks instead.

Speaking of dreaming: Spirited Away - if you haven't already, see it see it see it see it! Stunning, probably the best film I've seen all year, and really seems to tap into a whole number of half-remembered childhood games/imaginings/feelings. Secret gateways or portals into other worlds, worlds which don't have to obey the same rules as ours; the way anthropomorphic characters can be simultaneously sinister and cure; the melancholy, lonely beauty of trains... yes. I bet Philip Pullman would/does love it.

List of things to post about now includes: more about the above film, more about Outkast, something about Killer Mike's 'A.D.I.D.A.S.', something about The Royal Tenenbaums, something about The Raveonettes... and, long overdue, lots about Red, henceforth to be known as Nina a.k.a. Tryphena Sparks.