So that was Christmas, apparently. And New Year. Hello 2005. So far, I quite like 2005. I don't like the fact that I'm still here, still unchanged, but I do like January. When everyone else gets the January blues, I like January. I liked January 2004, it was a good month. January 2005, and I've found myself wistfully browsing through Sinister related memerobilia (also known as "cyber stalking sinister people I used to talk to"). It's a bit like picking up an old photo album, and going "oh my god! whatever happened to them?" and it's still (mostly) all there. There's Laura Llew, there's her Basic Eight quiz, there's Archel, and Mr Casarotto, and Caitlin Pigtails, and Gordon Rouss, and gayjay, and mandeemay (who isn't so much a memory, as a cyber legend who I still see around on the interweb), and Jayward, and Hobnob, and Jenny Payne, and Amy Longcore, Rachel and Ben Fruitloop Apps, and the pinefox, and Marianna and songles and ulla, and so many more. And you know, it gets me wondering, where people are now. That little circle of Sinisterettes, I used to talk to so frequently. Irritatingly, my computer went tits up over Christmas. So I had to change my user profile thing on it, and I transferred as many files as I possibly could, to my new add on profile. Unfortunately, I lost all of the email addresses I used to have, and I can't access my old outlook emails anymore. In addition, I can't get to my bookmarked links, which I'd just managed to tidy into various neat little folders, instead of having this foot-long list down the side of my internet explorer. The moral of my story? leave everything a mess, because it takes less wasted effort when things go wrong. I've also forgotten the logins for various websites I use/update as well. Fortunately, I remembered the one for Pocketbook Angels, which I've not really used in ages. So I'm sitting here, contemplating things to do. First of all I should tidy up. Then I should either read a book or go for a walk. I got a new book today - The Secret History by Donna Tartt. I'm assured it's a good book. I was meant to read it years ago, when I borrowed a copy from my friend, but it sat on my bookshelf, getting old, and then when I gave it back to her, I lied and said I'd leant it out to lots of people who wanted to read it. It was better than saying "Actually, I didn't ask to borrow it, and I couldn't bring myself to pick it up and read it". Like being back at school, I bluffed how much I'd enjoyed it. She looked really pleased. Now, I feel like I really should read it. I always feel like I should read books I've bluffed about reading. I did that at university too, when I had to read three novels a week (not entirely sdure how accurate that is, but I think it was in the realms of three a week, and it certainly felt like it). "Yeah, I really liked the bit where the main character confronted the other person, it was really well written...". I used to read the first few chapters, and if I could, try and read the rest. If not, skim through the remaining chapters, reading the start and the finish, and then, if it looked like something big had happened in that chapter (which you could tell, if the start and the finish were just so completely different, like, someone was mourning when they hadn't been doing so before) then I'd skim read the middle. Then I'd sit in class, and pick up on what other people were saying. Sometimes I'd disagree with them, if they expressed a feeling that they liked part of the book. Just to sound as if I really was interested. However, I wouldn't recommend this method of gaining a degree. I don't know how I managed, at the end of the day, winging it on pure luck and chance. I'm sure there's something waiting for me, somewhere, to teach me a lesson and the karma of my lies will come back to haunt me eventually. I think it already has manifested itself, in guilt. Even the books I did read, I can't remember what they were about, or what they were called. Portait of an Artist as a young man, Portrait of a Lady, Heart of Darkness... and yet only one of those I read. And I can't remember a thing about it. Sometimes I feel rather sentimental and superstitious. Things I haven't thrown out, not only because they might be useful again one day, but because if I do thrown them out, then, what if something happens? Like birthday cards from my gran, I hang on to, incase its the last one I get. I've got 15 years worth of cards from her now. Some still have my grandads name on them, some just her and her dog. Now, it's just the ones with her name on them. And now, I'm going to go. And be wistful elsewhere. Tomorrow, I'm going exploring, because that's what January is for. love idles xxx +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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 +-+ +-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+ +-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+ +-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+