Hey all. You're not armadillos and you never will be. Clean your teeth. Keep your hands to yourself. Careful with that axe, Eugene. Anyways, enough about you, lets talk about me. Greg. Greg Pallis, the boy G, whatever. Bubba, if it makes you happy. I dyed my hair yesterday, and it's now a lovely comic-book-good-guy sorta golden colour. And you know what? Final Fantasy Nine is going to be shit, just like every other one of the Final Fantasy games, which, lets face it, have the depth and complexity of the average Papa Roach song. I mean, yes, pretty graphics and all, but can anyone really be bothered with unskippable 2 minute plus cutscenes just to cast a bloody spell? I think not. Go on then, send me an e-mail telling me how you cried when Aerith died, and I'll laugh in your face and tell to play Planescape: Torment or Loom and /then/ talk about poignant pixelage. Also, Playstation Two is a far worse system than the Sega Dreamcast. Fact. Actually Sini isn't that geeky really, so most people will probably not be offended by that at all. So I'll inform you that I truly, honestly, genuinely believe that the three best singles of the noughties so far were, in ascending order, Supreme by Robbie Williams, Every Time You Need Me by Fragma and Teenage Dirtbag by Wheatus. 'Cos I'm that pop. Hum, this has gone a bit queeny here, hasn't it? Lets say some nice things: 1) Stevey Kado, many many thanks for the No Logo e-mail, and sorry for not replying. Agree with most of what you said, and also gave printout thereof to teacher as part of "what do contempories think of Naomi Klein" homework. Again, thanks. 2) Stuart Gardinier said: "IMHO, Coldplay is NOT as good as having your teeth removed, one by one, by a blind traffic warden, using a pneumatic drill.". And I laughed, and laughed. Thing is, I'm sure I felt only mild ambivalence towards Coldplay back when they were indie squibs the NME liked. Funny thing, this music lark. 3) B&S release things and tour soon. I approve heartily. 4) Erica said "Download Ain't 2 Proud 2 Beg by TLC". I did. It is fantastic. 5) Baxendale are nice people too. You can now get some obscure Baxmp3s from "Baxster" at musicforgirls.co.uk, a good thing, obviously. You can also get a free e-mail address at baxendale.co.uk, which is very neat. 6) I want a rodent, so I can call it "Grozny Papa". No reason. 7) List people, I give good, impartial advice. Go to a Library a get Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace. It will not cost you money to do this, and you will get an unbelievably fab book as a result of this transaction. Seriously. Do this. Really. Yes. Today. Please. Did you know, if it's Monday, and you're in London, instead of going to Trash like a good citizen, you can go to a place called "Bubblicious" at the Camden Underworld? You have to queue for 75 minutes or so, and it's full of sixteen-year-old public school rudeboys (So that'll have been me eight months ago, then) with Fake NUS card IDs, and the sort of fifteen-year-old girls who wear Playboy T-Shirts. If you're Greg and don't have any ID, you can get in by using flirty body language on the doormen. If you are my friend Nat (and thus wearing a cardigan, as in, an actual cardigan), you'll get bounced out even though you've actually brought ID, which is quite funny. Once inside, they will play eighties shit "to be ironic". Ben Sherman shirts and boob tubes. Adidas Tracksuits. Then they played "Not that innocent" and I leapt onto the dancefloor and lost it completely, doing the whole Britney video dance thing, and making up the about 90% that I couldn't remember. About three quarters of the way through I noticed there was this big circle, like literarily twenty foot diameter, around me of people looking and clapping and cheering me on, and I became very afraid and ran off. It was quite good, actually. They played 'Pop ya Collar' by Usher, too. Assuming I wouldn't be caught, I'd much rather shoot someone than pull the wings off a fly. Apparently, this is unusual. I don't really know why that should be so, but then it might be to do with the fact that I'm staggeringly self-centred, and most people aren't. And vain. And shallow. I was trying to explain the work experience counsellor the other day that all I cared about was that my future job be considered "cool", and I wasn't at all interested in money /or/ job satisfaction, and I think I confused her snotty dichotamy system, 'cos she stormed off in a huff. Yeah, I'm just a teenage dirtbag, baby. Say what you like, though, seventeen is a great age for silly little narcisstic boys. There was I, in this shitty little Camden venue, chatting away with Alice Cave, she of the B. D. B. W. A. H. K. B. H. T. L. G. M. A. S. D. P. R (Badly Dressed Boys Who Aren't Hard Kids Because, Hey, They Like Guitar Music And Smoke Draw! Punk Rock!) clique, an ex-goth and still a blur of make-up but actually the most fancied girl in the year, for the first time (her BDBWA...etc boyfriend being away, or dumped, whatever), and she gets all flirty and asks me to massage her back. And I'm like, okay, and so I do for about ten minutes, which is frankly dull, and she keeps saying how well I'm doing it and everything, but the thing is, we both know it means nothing. And I know she'll go to all her friends afterwards, and say how she's so good at flirting, and can get some random guy to give her a proper massage just like that, and by the way, Greg's shit at massaging. And she knows I'll go to my friends afterwards, and say hey, I just spent ages groping Alice Cave's upper back. And everybody's happy. Yeah, I'm just a teenage dirtbag baby, like you. Yes, you. There's a forthcoming U.S. high-school movie version of Othello called "O." coming out soon, and I suddenly thought that it would be far, far more realistic if instead of making "O." and (I presume) "D." different races, they just put them in different cliques. Cheerleader and nerd, perhaps, with her jock friends unable to accept she'd chosen some C++ programmer instead of "R.", the perhaps slightly uncool but still far more acceptable punter for the "Enfield Academy Halations", the school football team. That's not an Orin reference, by the way. Hum, that could actually work. Wow, how long is this post? Am I your list crush yet? Go on... People have been mentioning Sylvia Plath. Fair enough. I've never read any Sylvia Plath at all, except one poem called which was called something like "Box" and had bees in it. It was quite good. I don't rate poetry at all though, I'm one of those horrendously boring people who simply can't see the point in deliberately limiting your own writing. Oh, I recognize there's such a thing as very good poetry, but it's like, imagine this crazy Japanese guy who devotes his whole life to writing one perfect haiku, and he does. Now that's gonna be one top clusterfucking haiku, let me tell you. But will it be as good as Infinite Jest, say? No, because I'm not interested in extent of mastery of a form, I'm interested in the effect it has on me. But, you know, whatever. I'm getting a digital camera next week, so I say to you all "Torso! Feet! Irish things!". You know you're hip when you refer to a post that predates you subbing to sinister. And now... Friday night TV! It's top! Fucking TOP! Spaced at 11.20 (new series soon, at last), then Buffy right after that finishes, and then Robot Wars, which is the official best program in TV history, especially when Hypnodisk is on, making the other 'bots spew mechanical guts. Oh, you wouldn't understand. You're just a bunch of gurls. I ain't 2 proud 2 beg... Greg. +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo@missprint.org. WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+ +-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+ +-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+ +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+