Young, uniformed minds

24 05 2008

I’ve overcome my Herr Flick-like gait enough to go to Pilates today. There were a few side-long glances in the room though, and not at me and my amazing contortionist abilities – there was a boy in the class. I know most of the class were trying to be subtle with their covert gazes but I could pick up on it pretty quickly. I heard the interloper being suave-ish with the older ladies beforehand, swapping best hamstring stretch tips, and talking about which jasmine green tea is best pre-10k race. Then he flashed his shiny white teeth at us all. It reminded me of being at school, yup an all girls’ school, and the boys from the school down the road would run onto the lawn during lunch time and try to out-wit the staff who chased them earnestly across the lawn. Suddenly a veritable gaggle of untouched gals would hang out of the windows, appear from behind the bike sheds, down CDT tools and floppy discs (we were modern and progressive) and try their best to catch a glimpse of disappearing hide. It kind of reminds me of The Divine Comedy’s ‘Songs of Love’, there’s some truth in those lyrics.

So what’s my point? I’m an expert in detecting the hidden gaze of girls upon the lone guy in pilates or yoga?Well I wasn’t looking because 1) I saw his poo shoes at the side of the room, 2) I was over that around about 1999, 3) I prefer to scowl during pilates. I can’t pretend I’m particularly talented at pilates, nor particularly limber, but I do have my own style, and I like to be left in peace to do it. I don’t want any giggling girls nearby, the ones who come in holding hands with their BFF, and then make a big show and dance because they can’t put their mats together, or they don’t want to be right at the front, worried someone will see their ridiculous and frankly unpractical thong sticking out of their trackies. I don’t want no poo-shoed man near by either, I enjoy scowling in class. It’s because I never really understand what’s going on, and last time I attempted yoga all I heard was ‘sssshchcwas – fgghehe scshhh’ from the instructor so I just try and do my own thing, scowling as I go. 


I waved a sad goodbye to Donald last night, bidding farewell to the first season of Dirty, Sexy, Money. What will I do now that both Donald and Keifer are off my screen? Bring out an old copy of Young Guns? I think I’ll have to go back to Season 1 of 24 because Jackson hasn’t seen it at all and I need some adrenalin injected to the torpor of my surroundings. I’ve got the impression that Tripp Darling is like a magnetic planet, his children small orbs trapped in his gravitational field. He can’t let them go, and they can’t shake him either. I watched him try so hard throughout to get the most that is possible from all his children, but who’s had to struggle uphill the hardest? I’d have to say it’s Brian. I think I’ve been his fan since the beginning and his life’s certainly turned around the most, and he’s had more of an epiphany than the rest of the brood. The show’s supposed to be about Nick finding out who killed his Dad, but with characters like Brian and Karen, that line is just background noise to me. What did disappoint me though, but which was not in the slightest bit surprising for a woman like her, was that insipid wife of Nick deciding to have a baby. It just proves that she’s not unlike any other wispy, boring woman – when things go wrong (she was fired) the answer to it OF COURSE is to have another child. Just what you need to take your mind off things, the baby will solve it all. Maybe also Nick will be so tired from nappy changing all night that he’ll momentarily forget how boring and tiresome she is. I guess they needed the fired storyline to inject a bit of vim into her character. Bit of a twist with Karen though, eh? I knew she was kind of spunky deep down but not sly enough to do what she did with Simon Elder!!! Wily, slyboots Karen! 


I have a heap of things to write about Britain’s Having a Petit Mal in the Talent Department, but I might save some of them for later. I did however, whilst trawling through Youtube find that a whole host of videos exist for ‘Scala’ the electronic string act. It seems that one of the violinists, or maybe two, is going out with a member of McFly (they met on tour) and some fans have made Powerpoint style photo shows dedicated to the girls and their beaus, played in SlowMo to songs like ‘Girls just wanna have fun’ and writing symbols like <3. What does ❤ even stand for? “Get outta ma way, ho! You’re not standing in the way of me and my Fly boyzz!” Or maybe it’s actually a pair of boobs squeezed into a tight corset. Anyway, why was I looking this group up? I had a feeling I’d seen them before or read about them before. And I was right! There is a connection, but not one I’d shout about from the rooftops, because that would be lame to jump on someone else’s bandwagon, and well, about 50,000 other people have the same connection. But there was this one time (long time ago)…a party….and next door….and Eurovision….orange juice….raw egg…sore head…fag butt in a stale Chinese. Nope, that’s enough. Hang on, Eurovision is on tonight, and I saw Scala tonight, and that’s, that’s like weird! Tuscon weird! 




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