this may not have worked the first time. if it did, god, i'm so sorry to inflict this on you twice. -- Begin original message --

From: r.playforth@sussex.ac.uk (Rachel Playforth) Date: Fri, 15 Feb 2002 14:05:40 +0000 (GMT Standard Time) Subject: was she scared, was she bored? To: sinister@missprint.org

well, the internet is bust here and since that's what usually gets me through the day (that and the odd appearance of a gorgeous guy/girl or some erupting row amongst my bosses), i have to post to sinister instead. which is bad in a way because i don't have much content/gossip/smut/scintillating wit to share today.

last weekend's shenanigans made me feel young and crazy again, and subsequently i've been pondering the elusive concept of adulthood. i can never seem to get a real handle on 'growing up'. am i grown up now? now? next year? when? sometimes it hits me like a lightning bolt that, yes, this must be it. letting myself into my own flat (well, rented) with my own key, going into my own kitchen and unpacking my own shopping, preparing dinner for my own parents as i did on tuesday - just these minor things can stop me in my tracks - woah, i'm an adult. and it can be a good or a bad feeling. on tuesday i was overwhelmed with a) relief and b) surprise. relief, because i don't have to suffer all the trials of being a teenager any more (and, however unique a teenager you are, some of those trials *are* universally teenage), and surprise because i can't remember at what point i stopped suffering them, and acquired a job, a bank account, a flat, contents insurance, a boyfriend, a credit card, and the ability to use them all appropriately while not having to tell mum what time i'll be home.

but then sometimes i don't feel like an adult at all, but like a little girl who gets nervous talking on the phone*, doesn't understand inflation or interest rates or the situation in the middle east, expects a stocking at christmas, and is too scared to try for a proper job where she actually has to take responsibilty.

and yet... it's all relative. my sister (aged 20) turned up at my flat that same tuesday night at around 11pm, complaining drunkenly that her friends had called her a 'Loser' for leaving the pub early, accompanied by american-style L-shaped gestures. 'they're so immature', she said, 'i mean, i did this <makes double L-shape with first fingers and thumbs> back to them, obviously, but they still think i'm the sad one.' (no hint of irony.) then: 'does that mean lesbian?' asked my mum. 'well, in MY culture it means Loser', said my sister.

the whole thing about different cultures is strange, because my sister is only 3 years younger than me, and yet she identifies herself COMPLETELY differently. just as 17-year-olds have a totally different frame of reference even to her. matt pointed out that in 10 or 20 years time we could be in a pub and overhear adults who don't seem that much younger than us talking nostalgically about pokemon.

did i have a point? not really.

i wonder if belle & sebastian are a particularly regressive sort of band? i mean, nu-metal is more obviously juvenile, but maybe it's just a different side of the same coin. limp bizkit and offspring glorify the shouty, sulky, toilet humour side of adolescence, whereas b&s give us the tormented, misunderstood, bullied side. do those of us who like b&s (those of us, that is, who AREN'T still teenagers) secretly feel that we haven't properly grown up yet, that we'll never rule the school, that the world is still not made for us? do we feel bullied by real life? are we just scared to grow up, godammit?

well, maybe i'm just talking to/for myself here.

i should mention other people's posts, but a) i can never remember later what, at the time, made me laugh/sigh/think/well up and b) just thinking about other people's posts makes me feel inadequate. oh, ally cook posted. that was nice. and if i could write half as well as lindsey lou i'd pack in my job right now and write a novel.

given the self-referential nature of sinister, does it count as content to refer to other listees? i'm never sure.

the lights are on, but there's no-one home.

luv archel xxx

ps. peter carter asked about brighton photos on the web - as for mine, i haven't developed the film yet and may not get to a scanner for a while anyway. but hopefully others will be more efficient?

pps. i am eating frisps. they claim 'it's not a crisp - it's a frisp', but it might as well be a crisp as far as i can see. i mean, 'crisp' covers quite a lot, doesn't it? could they be done for false advertising?

* i think i actually have a medical condition. when i have to phone a stranger, whether a publisher or a bookshop or my insurance company, i have to remove layers of clothing to minimise the sweating and write down what i'm going to say beforehand. is this totally weird?

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