Sinister: obey my dog

[David Hewitt]

G'day Sinister.

It's been a while. Sorry about that.

In less than a fortnight now, I'm going to marry a girl I met thanks to
these wonderful pink pages. She used to live on almost exactly the opposite
side of the world, but now, several round-the-world tickets, wracked nerves,
terrifying phone bills and so on later, we now both live together in a third
place. What's perhaps most strange about this turn of events is exactly how
strange it isn't, round these parts. Frankly, I find it harder to understand
how our parents' generation ever found people to be compatible with in their
own little cities and towns, and immediate circles of friends. It's not that
I'm difficult to please (though I probably am), but some of us have to
travel far and wide in search of someone that can tolerate us for any amount
of time. And having (mostly) compatible record collections counts for a bit
more than having similar post codes, I reckon.

Actually, I won't try to rationalise it any further. Frankly, I blame Honey.
I only wanted to find out about this Scottish band I was warming to, honest.
I didn't expect to find this remarkable little village that's somehow been
smeared and spread out rather inconveniently across most of the planet.

Among the many and varied things that go along with having a wedding comes
an issue with which you can perhaps render some assistance. The music.
Pretty much anything by Belle and Sebastian is out of the question for a
wedding, in spite of its obvious significance. (Don't believe me? How about:
The Wrong Girl? Seeing Other People? Get Me Away From Here I'm Dying? The
Boy Done Wrong Again? I'm Waking Up To Us? Fuck This Shit? I Don't Love
Anyone?) But going through my records, most of them consist of some bloke
whining about some girl that's broken his heart, or some other girl that he
can't have, or something similar. Dump me, and I'm knee deep in wonderful
wallowing music. Marry me, though, and I'm completely flummoxed. Musically,
at least. I don't know what it says about me as a person that I've given
some thought to what I want played at my funeral (Ray Parker Jr's
'Ghostbusters', obviously), but none at all about what I'd like to play at
my wedding. So please, suggest away.

In other news, I managed to actually meet some Australian listees, in
Australia, no less. I'd met some of the Australian ex-pats before, but it
was great to actually meet people on home turf for once. It turns out that
my good mate's new flatmate is ex-Sinister, and he's even on the people
page. He's also a New Yorker (as is the missus), and the subject of a story
not entirely lacking in similarities to our own. We've also had the pleasure
of meeting up on a couple of occasions with the remarkable Miss Trixie
Firecracker, initially completely by chance. Which was wonderful, obviously.
Sometimes being on Sinister feels like being in the Mafia. If only we were a
bit tougher, we could really start getting things done. Oh, and we also had
the chance to raise a wrist with Jim, who's apparently the list's longest
lurker. Which is a strange sort of celebrity, if you think about it. Being
famous for being absent from something the longest. Still, if we mention him
now and again, perhaps his legend will grow. G'day Jim!

Sorry, that got rather long. Give me a break, I haven't posted for ages.
Next time I'll be briefer, more interesting and less self-centred, okay?
That'll do for now, though.

Bulk love,
-Vanilla Flavoured David (formerly St. Ankin of Cooter)
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 +-+       "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     +-+
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 +-+               Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa                 +-+
 +-+               Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut!                +-+
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