volcanic's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- anthems for the balding I feel better today. I think we can safely say that yesterday's intrapartum metaphors won't be repeated this evening. Personally, I'm relieved about that, because there's a limit where you can go when you get into that kind of territory. Hey- there's some guy waxing lyrical about Adam Ant on the radio. Adam Ant rocks nearly as much as me and Stephen King. I know Adam recently got involved in a bizarre scenario in a London pub which ended only when he was admitted to a psychiatric ward, but nevertheless, I have a certain fondness for the bloke. I'm not going to pretend I'm cooler-than-thou and that I was into him circa "Whip in my Valise" and all that art-noise-terrorism that he was doing (although "the Day I Met God" off the Dirk Wears White Sox album is pretty jolly, as songs about meeting God go...), although that's an age thing as much as anything else. I was only about 11 when he hit the charts in a big way, and in a musical landscape populated by KC and the Sunshine Band and Dollar (although, having said that, Orbital sampled Dollar on their last-but-one album, so I guess that makes Dollar cool. Or Orbital a bit sad. One or the other) Adam and his camper-than-camp Ants were something akin to a blast of Nitromors around your sinuses. [You can see I'm working hard on diversifying with my metaphors here, can't you?] So yes, double-tribal drum beats, the sartorial spectacle of pirate finery and plaited fringes stole my heart away. I was such a fan that even now, I would pay good money to get my hands on the skull-and-crossbones charm that one of the teenage mags of the time gave away as a free cover gift. Mad really. A bit like poor old Adam. Although, I must admit I had my doubts about him a few years ago, round about the time when "Wonderful" came out, when he refused to take his hat off on account of his diminishing follicle count. That kind of vanity definitely borders on the deranged side, if you ask me. The belief that no-one would suss that you're balding if you keep your hat on is a strange and deluded one. Having said that, I have vivid memories of sitting in the back of my Dad's Opel Manta, reading Gary Numan's account of his hair transplant in Smash Hits. The bit where he described the blood pouring down his face still has the power to make me heave by proxy. And then there's Elton John. I can't begin to imagine how it feels to lose your hair. I have the opposite problem: mine grows with the fervour usually associated with ground elder. But judging by the way it affects celebrities, it must be a terrible thing. Weird. But yes, Adam Ant. I seem to have lost my copy of the "Prince Charming" album, and that distresses me. There's a magnificent track on it called "Scorpios" which features wonderfully cheesy horns and lyrics that namedrop Diana Dors's nails. I would love to hear that track right now. I've never really got into Ally McBeal, but the concept of having your own "theme song", as recommended by Ally's shrink, kind of resonates with me. My official themesong is The Shamen's "LSI" (which for the uninitiated stands for love/ sex/ intelligence). Heheh. When I put that on, I kind of... mutate into an Amazonian goddess of Einsteinian genius. It's probably quite scary, really, but don't let that put you off from trying it yourself at home. But yes, that Adam & the Ants track comes in a close second. I'm struggling to remember the actual lyrics (and would love it if anyone could help me out here) but I think they go something along the lines of "be pretty, look young, be fearless- like the Scorpios". God, I'm sad, aren't I? It's at times like this when I begin to understand why no more frogs.com and we just clicked.com are unlikely to EVER find a perfect match for me. Which is probably just as well, really...
9:56 a.m. - 20.06.02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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