Watching movies with the sound turned down
I'm in Edinburgh now (more on that when I have the time to catch my breath, get my head together and try to get Erin off of her computer), and finally close enough to The Mission to be able to go and dance and then walk back when I get bored.
So... left the flat at 23:40 and wandered through the quiet streets of Edinburgh (such a huge change from the daytime, when the Fringe crowds made walking the streets like swimming through treacle), reading todays Guardian. I arrive around midnight, quarter the paper, stick it in my pocket and then check the jacket in to the coat check (which has moved since I was last there, the only apparent change in the 14 or so months since I was last there). Wandering upstairs I find Nick drunkenly dancing to something unidentifiable but bleepy. The movie projected onto the wall is Hellraiser, and I seem to be about 2/3 of the way through.
The music seems to be going through the bleep/crunch/sample cycle that Nick loves so much, and I warm up dancing with him. With the occasional recognisable song thrown in (a remix of Apoptygma Berzerk's Starsign), I get by for a bit, until I finally get bored of the endless crunching and wander downstairs, to see if I can be bored by guitars for a bit.
I manage nearly 5 minutes of that (not that I have anything against guitars, but the Metal floor is playing thrash at this point and I really can't be arsed) before heading upstaris to wander into something I actually know, with a real tune and everything! (No idea what it was, but I've definitely danced to it on a frequent basis).
The new DJ seems to have been in cryogenics since 1990 and plays Jesus Built My Hotrod, Head Like a Hole, Temple of Love, Moonchild (The Fields of the Nephelim song, not the Iron Maiden one) and then follows it up with something by Siouxsie and the Banshees and then finishes with Iggy Pop's The Passenger. Completely sated by nostalgia, I dance to one bleepy thing before heading back to the coat check.
Edinburgh has been reduce to Victorian London by fog, so I walk back reading the comment section of the Guardian, watching a girl 50 feet ahead of me fade in and out of the mist, her hair glinting in the yellow lights, stopping briefly to pick up a sandwich from the local garage and composing bits of journal entry in my head.
For my first night out in age, t'was darn good fun.
So... left the flat at 23:40 and wandered through the quiet streets of Edinburgh (such a huge change from the daytime, when the Fringe crowds made walking the streets like swimming through treacle), reading todays Guardian. I arrive around midnight, quarter the paper, stick it in my pocket and then check the jacket in to the coat check (which has moved since I was last there, the only apparent change in the 14 or so months since I was last there). Wandering upstairs I find Nick drunkenly dancing to something unidentifiable but bleepy. The movie projected onto the wall is Hellraiser, and I seem to be about 2/3 of the way through.
The music seems to be going through the bleep/crunch/sample cycle that Nick loves so much, and I warm up dancing with him. With the occasional recognisable song thrown in (a remix of Apoptygma Berzerk's Starsign), I get by for a bit, until I finally get bored of the endless crunching and wander downstairs, to see if I can be bored by guitars for a bit.
I manage nearly 5 minutes of that (not that I have anything against guitars, but the Metal floor is playing thrash at this point and I really can't be arsed) before heading upstaris to wander into something I actually know, with a real tune and everything! (No idea what it was, but I've definitely danced to it on a frequent basis).
The new DJ seems to have been in cryogenics since 1990 and plays Jesus Built My Hotrod, Head Like a Hole, Temple of Love, Moonchild (The Fields of the Nephelim song, not the Iron Maiden one) and then follows it up with something by Siouxsie and the Banshees and then finishes with Iggy Pop's The Passenger. Completely sated by nostalgia, I dance to one bleepy thing before heading back to the coat check.
Edinburgh has been reduce to Victorian London by fog, so I walk back reading the comment section of the Guardian, watching a girl 50 feet ahead of me fade in and out of the mist, her hair glinting in the yellow lights, stopping briefly to pick up a sandwich from the local garage and composing bits of journal entry in my head.
For my first night out in age, t'was darn good fun.