The beautiful melodies in “How To Make a Baby Elephant Float” by Yo La Tengo aren’t easy to forget… “I like to hold hands when we walk. I’m not averse to pillow talk, but I prefer a private joke. The memory it evokes, because it’s our punch line…”
It was an irreversible process. The shirt slipped on and I was reborn. Reborn as a woman, according to the Instruction Manual for Being a Man. That’s right, I bought a pink shirt.
Me: What’s wrong with it?
Average male: Erm, nothing except that it’s pink!
This is the part where some of my friends might raise an eyebrow in my direction or shoot me a “Woah, I didn’t know he was gay” look (as opposed to shooting me an “I knew he was gay all along” look). My brother teased me about this the last time I went shopping with him after I commented on how cool a particular pink shirt looked. Chris did the same when I went so far as to stretch my digits out and feel the fabric of a one. It’s great how they try to market pink shirts in the mens department. Even though I think a pink shirt with a dark suit looks good, it’s not generally considered “power dressing” so some stores refer to the colour as “burgundy” or “white/red” instead. But it’s neither of those. There’s no point deluding yourself. It’s pink, plain to see.
There’s an old Chinese saying, “Wear marshmallow colour shirt, passion for women die.” Okay, I just made up that last bit, but that’s the general concensus in the male community (and maybe the lesbian community too because I’ve not seen one in comfortable pink shoes). As a man you could wear possibly any other colour in the entire spectrum, but choose a pink shirt and you’ll get whispers aimed in the opposite direction of your walk.
The tally is not 1, but actually 2 (count ‘em) pink shirts in the Tun Collezioni now. The first was a shade of light-pink-that-looks-like-it-could-have-resulted-from-someone-leaving-a-red-sock-in-my-laundry-of-white-garments. This second time I nearly went for a solid pink shirt, but instead I went for the training wheels equivalent white shirt with light red thatching, which creates the illusion that it’s a pink shirt from the distance, whilst maintaining leigh-way for me to argue my way out with technicalities if I happen to find myself in a bar-fight with a group of hate-monger bikers. If I was set upon by said bikers, I wouldn’t argue and insist that pink is a cute colour and that they say pink is the colour of love. Not exclusively gay love, but just love. Remember that when you poke fun of me and my pink-shirt-wearing brothers. ^_^
Sunday morning was a relatively early rise to attend a buddhist gathering with mum. I usually shy away from such events but this time had to go along because I had to drop her off there and it would have been easier for me to just stay there till I had to leave some time later to meet Yogi in central London. Well, I’m really glad I went because besides from the copious amounts of food to chow down on, following up from Friday night, I met 2 old friends I hadn’t seen for years.
First was T, who I hadn’t seen for about 6 years and A who I am sure I haven’t seen for about 12 years. With T, it was almost like there had never really been a gap because he is exactly the same person I knew back then. He’s bulked up somewhat and it was funny when someone asked if we were brothers because we absolutely do not look alike at all. Fact. He’s also going to the V Festival this year and had been bestowed backstage passes courtesy of his friend who is the cousin of one of the members of Turin Brakes. Lucky guy is going to be backstage at the very stages where bands like Foo Fighters, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Feeder and Coldplay will be performing! I think if I was somewhere like that I’d be slightly starstruck. I don’t get starstruck with actors/actresses and celebrities in general, but meeting famous musicians is always fun, possibly due to the supressed musician in me. T and I caught up on all manner of topics. There was much to talk about because he’s currently in his gap year. He’s got quite a bit of free time when he’s not working so we’ve agreed to keep in touch and will meet up again very soon. Definitely.
Second was A, who I never really spoke to before and only really knew through her brother. Our parents are good friends and we all used to play together when we were kids. Obviously because of the large gap, there was room for a lot of change and she had transformed into an older version of the child I remember. I remembered her as the cute little sister of my friend who used to be really shy and run around, generally being a little rebellious to her brother’s wishes. I don’t think I ever spoke to her then because her brother used to always say she was a bit weird, and you know when you’re a kid, you don’t want to really be the one seen speaking to the weird kid. On Sunday, I was sitting down at a table reading and she came over and starting talking to me. All the while I thought she was doing so because she remembered me from when we used to play as kids. It turned out that she didn’t know who I was and didn’t remember me at all. She only knew me as the son of her mum’s good friend and I’m not surprised that she didn’t remember because she was only around 10 years old when we last met. That, and I’m the one with the sublime long-term memory. Even though this was the first time we had ever had a proper conversation, she was cool about it and I found out that she shares pretty much the same interests in music as me, especially in the lo-fi, downtempo and hip-hop departments. Music is my number 1 favourite thing in the world so we got along well. Isn’t it always a little strange when you get talking to an old friend or a stranger and discover good rapport once again? Being used to speaking to a lot of people who are quiet or shy away, it’s always refreshing for me to talk to a friendly stranger who makes the conversation flow, whether they remember me or not.
A had been to the Beth Gibbons/Rustin Man and Sparklehorse gig at Somerset House the previous night. That would have been a good one to go to, but I had no idea that Somerset House even played host to gigs! The other shows at Somerset House were all sold out too, and Monday night was with Calexico and Yo La Tengo. Gah! I’ve been slack in keeping my eyes peeled for bands that I want to see live and I was gutted to learn that The Postal Service played a gig in June. Double gah! They’re back in August supporting Bright Eyes, which is weird because The Postal Service are generally acknowledged to be the awesomer band of the 2! Hmmm, it’s going to have to be a judgement call on that one because it’s likely I’d leave after the support act. I’d definitely have gone, no question about it, if it the supporter became the supported. Also heard that Múm cancelled their upcoming dates in August too. Triple gah! All these bands coming over to the UK on tour made me also realise that there are a lot of albums I have to get my hands on. There are so many I’ve been meaning to get but never got round to buying. Like for instance, yesterday I really fancied listening to Sigur Rós‘ Agaetis Byrjun album but couldn’t because, well, I don’t own it. So now I’ve started the process of slowly geting all the ones on my list. I could say this at anytime during your life, but it’s a good time to live in for music at the moment.
Seems that Sunday is becoming a fairly regular routine of me driving into central London to meet Yogi. Lately it’s been so hot and the newspapers confirmed that it’s hotter here than in cities in India, Brazil and Spain! It was so hot, I could feel the heat rising as I approach central London on the motorway, due in part to the corresponding rise in amount of concrete and people. The only thing missing was a soft-top to let the roof down so I could drive into the west end, convertible-style. Uh well, all the windows wound down and the sunroof open all the way will have to do till I develop an artistic wrist with a chainsaw.
