The scent of drying paint and black coffee soothed Stuart Goddard to sleep on the cold floor of an English kitchen. He huddled deeper into his sleeping bag, shielding his naked body from the temperature of the room. The night was a miserable one, littered with the noises of destruction and rowdy punks slamming in and out of the front door. Still, he savoured every moment of rest he gains, finally drifting into a heavy slumber in the early hours. He had no time to dream, no, everything was big black cloud erupted by morning like a punch in the face.

He jerked his head back and snapped his eyes open. The life of a musician was a hard one, especially when it wasn’t morning that had forced him to rouse. No. Staring down at him was the beady black eyes of John Simon Ritchie (AKA Sid Vicious), troublemaker of the Sex Pistols.

“You been talkin’ ‘bout me.” Ritchie sneered before dealing Goddard another blow to the face. Goddard attempted to struggle free as the Sex Pistol continued to assault him. A kick in the stomach, a stomp in the neck. The attack was merciless. When at last Goddard managed to free the snag in his zipper Ritchie decided to take off, running wherever his feet would take him.

Goddard staggered to his feet, swearing to kill the facsimile bass player. His weapon of choice? A hammer from the kitchen counter. He stormed out, fast on the heels of John Simon Ritchie. An arm landed around Goddard’s waist. A concerned friend held him back and urged him to rethink—or at least put on some clothes. Goddard listened, calming down and dressing. But that wasn’t the end of it.

Goddard caught up with Ritchie, this time with the hammer tucked up his sleeve. He removed the hammer, backing Ritchie against the wall and holding him there with one hand. With the other he lifted the hammer, swinging it high into the air and landing it repeatedly beside the Sex Pistol’s head.

“Next time,” Goddard began in an even tone, “I won’t miss.”

When most uninformed listeners hear the name “Adam Ant” they roll their eyes. Who does this bloke in pirate chic think he is? Johnny Depp? And what’s with this Dandy business, eh? Who is going to take him seriously?

How about Sid Vicious?

Adam Ant, born Stuart Leslie Goddard wasn’t just a New Waver in fancy clothes. He was a crown jewel that out lasted the Punk movement of ’77. Having grown up in a distinctive Romanichal family Goddard was used to being the minority—the outsider—making him the perfect candidate for the Punk scene. He held his own with the likes of John Ellis and Billy Idol, he even became an early Bass player for Bazooka Joe, the band who opened for The Sex Pistols first gig. Unfortunately, struggles with his mental health forced Goddard to leave the band and focus on a domestic life. To many it seemed he was down and out, but this wasn’t to be his last taste of punk music. After leaving Bazooka Joe, Goddard (who now went by the name Adam Ant) attended a Siouxsie Sioux and the Banshees gig which lit a fire beneath him. Immediately he formed Adam and the Ants.

The Ants didn’t find immediate public appeal due to the fetish imagery of their music, but the media had taken notice. So much so that Adam was able to approach Malcolm McLaren (former Sex Pistols manager) to manage the band. In usual McLaren style, he stole the band out from under Adam (using the Ants later as the band Bow Wow Wow.) Despite it all, he was resilient, reformed the band and later started an iconic solo career.

Audiences of the 1980’s were intrigued by Adam Ant’s looks. Dressing like a cross between a Dandy and a pirate Adam Ant stood out from the rest of the post-punk scene who still wore ripped t-shirts and studded leather jackets. The sound he offered the masses was just as glamourous, playful and sexually suggestive as the refreshing aesthetics he offered the media. Though drenched in rock ‘n roll guitars, Adam Ant’s music had a classy edge through classical pop instrumentalization. Every backing track was perfectly polished—a true work of New Wave art. If the music weren’t enough to make listeners take notice, the lyrics were. Playing up taboos such as sex and the 1980’s lust of money took Adam Ant exactly where he needed to go.

Songs such as “Strip” were banned on the spot, where as mild tracks like “Goody Two Shoes” hit the top of the charts. Ultimately, the censorship of Adam Ant’s music didn’t hurt his career. In fact, it bumped his record sales. Musicians like Phil Collins were desperate to work with the avant garde punk veteran. The man had received the respect and honour due to him. Tragically the days of living on top came to a chosen end. Following the release of his hard rock album Vive Le Rock Adam Ant decided to step away from the music industry.

Most recently, Adam Ant released his autobiography Stand and Deliver, which quickly became a best seller. Rumour has it he’s releasing new material, and has expressed interest in working with the Kaiser Chiefs. For the sake of cleansing the pop charts, lets hope it’s true.

Tracks:

"Goody Two Shoes"

"Strip"

"Desperate But not Serious"

"Prince Charming"

        Before the days of hiring Paramore to record a pop song to make a movie the next big thing, film score captured the imaginations of audiences. It took the perfect combination of musical talent and inner aesthetic for a composer to arrest the mood of the film, a task that was easy in comparison to representing the movie’s actions through sound. Most great composers fell short. Sure, the score caused goose bumps and reminded the listener of the main character’s struggle, but could that same theme bring to life in the minds eye say, a gunfight?

            This is where Ennio Morricone surpasses other great composers. Having trained in music since he was a small child Morricone not only was a musical phenomenon, he was innovative. Both were traits sought after by infamous Spaghetti Western director Sergio Leone. Having heard Morricone’s work for television, film and pop music Leone has complete confidence when approaching Morricone for a series of scores for his latest works with Clint Eastwood.

          Morricone’s originality was the perfect match to Leone’s creativity and, more importantly, the filming budget. Unable to afford a full orchestra Morricone found himself having to improvise. Rather than using a field of oboes or blasting euphoniums he turned to the unusual sounds of whistling, chanting, whips, gunfire and dramatic pauses. Not only did the curious themes enchant the ears of moviegoers, it meshed perfectly with Leone’s filming techniques. In fact, the music was the breath that brought the movies to life, so much so that Leone would draw out his pacing just so Morricone’s music wouldn’t end.

          Sergio Leone’s films had taken Ennio Morricone from being just another Italian composer and turned him into a silver screen legend. Directors from across the globe (John Carpenter, Oliver Stone and Brian De Palma to name a few) approached Morricone to compose for their films, cementing him as the legend he is today. Every generation has come to enjoy his work, including Gen Y due to Morricone’s music in Quentin Tarantino’s Kill Bill and Inglorious Basterds.

           While it seems the art of film scores is lost Ennio Morricone stands as the great pinnacle of film composers. His style, emotion and impressive ability to sum up a story with the simple blaring of a trumpet is second to none. Morricone set the bar so high, no other film composer can grab it. Perhaps, that’s why directors are hiring pop stars these days?

Tracks:

PER QUALCHE DOLLARO IN PIUA  AKA Few Dollars More (Theme)

Il Buono, Il Brutto, Il Cattivo AKA The Good, The Bad and The Ugly (Theme)

The Mission (Theme)

Rabbia E Tarantella

For a Taste of How His Music Meshes with Film:

"Il triello" Il Buono, Il Brutto, Il Cattivo AKA "The Trio" from The Good, The Bad and The Ugly 

Have you ever seen such a handsome woman?   Wait... you mean that's a man in that habit?  Perhaps, not the best way to prove me point, is it?  Instead let's try this:

Or maybe this?

Especially that.    I know, I know, I'm on odd duck.   BUT, if Peter Cook had really been George Spiggott AKA The Devil, I'd in trouble.  It's the whole Mod thing, I suppose.  I always knew Satan was a modernist.     If I were still in High school I'd be doing scenes fro mthis movie with what ever poor bastard I roped into being my partner.  Probably Laura. Gosh, those were good times.    I miss acting terribly.   I'm fifty miles from one of the top acting colleges in North America but I'm an absolute fool if I drop my wonderful job to go act.   The thing is, while I love my job and my client is probably the only friend my age I have around here and I'm fantastically good at what I do (I'm not bragging, I just do my job to the best of my ablity) I feel like I'm wasting my best years.   I want to act.  I want to act in real productions.  I want to see what I write be acted out by someone other than Laura and myself for open mic night.  The theatre bug sunk her teeth in me at birth.   But being an actress, being a full time writer, being a photographer, going back to school for something other than nursing is irresponsible.   Yet I can't bare to think of living life with any regrets.  

To mention Pet Shop Boys, Neil sang "Every actor needs an audience" and it's true.   I'd be so much happier if I were on stage again.   Certainly I could get grants or something that would help me pay my bills?   It's not me I'm worried about letting down.  I could find some way to work and go to school again, maybe see if they could cut my hours at work so I could go to school and have some cover the nights I had rehearsal and performance, but my sisters are counting on me.  I'm another income.   I just want to study and bask in something I love so badly.   But Kanah is our full time artist.  And she should be.  I mean the girls are fifteen years my senior.  And yet part of me says why should I waste my youth?  Am I really doing what I want to?   No. 

True, I hate math.  I NEVER studied a day in my life.  I like to ditch class.   I don't enjoy getting up in the morning.  Oh, and all the stupid requirments, like having to do three social activities?   I hate them.  Oh, oh, oh, oh, and the money.   I already owe the college my tution (which I keep attempting to pay off) from the last time I flaked out but, they'll take me back.  I'm supposed to be in college right now.  So why am I not doing it?   Technically, I'm disabled.  My back has taken away over fifteen percent of my R.O.M.   I come frome divorced parents.  I'm the first one in my family to go to college.   AAAH!H!SDFFHSDFNJKSD!  I JUST FOUND OUT THERE ARE VEGAN SCHOLARSHIPS!   And ones for being tall.  You guys, I can do this.   I can do this and still survive.     I'd even move on campus if I can make myself eligable for ASC's full boat grants.

The only thing that sucks is I have to use my parents taxes until I'm twenty-three.  That's what foulled me up last time.  The mine was still in full function so my dad was making good money when taxes were filed.   What was given wasn't a true protrait of my family's finances.   With the way the economy is though, I could be in the proper bracket.   I've wanted to go back to school since I left.  True, a year ago this time time I was pretty fucked in the head.  I'd been kicked out of the nest early.  I went to school full time and I worked full time at a nursing home in the evenings.   I was still a kid.  More of a kid than I am now.  Fresh, plump, mourning the loss of a dear friend, suddenly thrown into an adult world that I couldn't handle.  I'm wiser now.  I take care of myself.   I want independence so badly.  I want to be my own person, and this is how I'm going to do it. 

I had to get out there and get my mind together.  Take better care of my body.  Gain confidence.  Here I am.  I'm not going to be boring anymore.  Just because the rest of my family hopped from home life to work doesn't mean I don't have to.   My dad was a thread away from being a big shot comedian in the 80's.   He choked up and Rosanne Barr got picked up that night by a producer instead of him.   He'd the chance to M.C. a line of big clubs in Texas but his wife at the time wouldn't hear of it.  My dad made his own way.  Don't tell me that with the right training and connections I couldn't.   Unlike my dad I write scenes.   I craft my own camera work.   He could dance, something I can't do, but I can write.  I could direct.   I don't plan on being on the silver screen.  I've a soft round face at a time when angles are in.    I won't be in the gossip mags.   I don't aspire to Hollywood.  But, I do want to see where art gets me.  I just have to give myself a chance. 

Funny that two hours of Peter Cook and Dudley Moore would spawn this to come all spewing out again. 

I'm always afraid to talk about this stuff.  This burning desire is something I talk about with my mom in brief moments but abandon because no one says "I think you should do it."  It's always "You know you won't like the other course work."  "You know it's going to be expensive."  "It's going to be just like last time.  You're going to hate it."   No it's not.   I have my CNA stuff to fall back on.  Plan B completed.   I'm going to go and get the training and sharpen the skills I need to share the spark that makes me uniquely me with the world.   I don't want to be an old woman sitting in a rocking chair thinking "I never even tried." 

Go to college.  Move to the UK.  See where it goes from there. 

That's my agenda. 

This depressed little valley is beautiful, but it isn't big enough for me.   I haven't been the same since Septemeober.  The  Pet Shop Boys show gave me a taste of the world I'd tried to blind myself to.  Chicago air in my lungs.  Role models on the stage.  The moment I saw Neil it all just snapped.  They played "New York City Boy" and "Being Boring" and it was like, I dunno, it was directed at me.   I was never more miserable going home.   I cried silently when we pulled away from Down Town Chicago.  I didn't want to go back to being valley me.  Disconent filled me.  And then Manics came along and that show?  I felt like I was a part of it.  I had contact with men who will never know how much they meant to me over the years.   I was part of a scene.  Part of a movement.   My freaking eyebrows got a shout out.   And I thought again "I don't ever wanna go back."   There's somethign about this valley that numbs the mind.   I can't let that happen. 

You know what's going to happen to me if I don't change my path?  I'm going to be Annie Mary.  Who am I kidding?  I AM Annie-Mary.  I'm just so afraid if I stay here I'll die alone.  I mean, falling in love and getting married was never part of the plan. but there's something wrong with staying in the same region fifty years and in the end still being the lonely cat lady.   Or, four years are gonna run up and Max and I will elope.  And hormones will go crazy and there I'll be, married with a gaggle of kids, running around wearing no shoes, waiting for my husbandto get home from work.  I don't want that.  I don't think I even want him.  Physically, I'm not even attracted to him.  He just has this brilliant mind and something about his body chemistry makes my brain go all haywire and I'm like "I love you.  I love you.  I love you.   I want you.  I lvoe you.  Kiss me?  Please?"  And we get all gross and mooshy.   It's pathetic.  I don;t have time for that.  

So in short, Pete Cook was a handsome devil in Bedazzled (Get the joke I made there?) I miss acting.  I really don't want to commit to my sort of boyfriend.  and  December 1st, I'm apply for school again.

Sorry,  I had to.  soon Enou

      Max IMed me trying to perk me up.   He's been depressed too, so it's an uphill battle.  He says he'd feel better if I moved out to SLC to be with him.   But, you know me.   I love my job too much.  Plus when I leave this sad little place I'm Chicago bound, or I'm going to the UK.   I'd rather have the latter.  My sisters and I had a plan to do it and now they're starting to renig.  It's killing me.  My sister's ex-boyfriend joked he would just take me and drop me off somewhere in Wales.   And you know, I don't think I'd object.   This of course spawned jokes about me standing in the middle of a field of sheep in a pink feathered boa and my beatup harness boots. 

    A former friend asked me if I'd be upset to go over seas without my family or Max.   And you know what?  I wouldn't.   I have this belief I can make it anywhere.   I'm scrappy, you lot.   I could hold my own anywhere.  Plus it helps that my height makes me intimdating as Hell.  Really, I think that's why it was so easy to walk up to Nicky.  Everyone else at the show that night kept saying how his height had made them nervous to talk to him at first.   I don't think I thought twice.  Until the man turned to me, then I was dumbstruck.   But I gather my wits quickly.  Poor man, probably thought I was mad as a hatter with those stupid Kabuki eyebrows on.  ~_~

    Speaking of which, I've put several leopard pink coats my mum could get me for Christmas on her EBay list.   Which one she gets me will be the surprise.  Actually, there's one I really want because it's identical to the one Nicky wore in the Rapido interview.  And yeah, I want it.  Especially because the owner says it's super warm, which I need.   My wool coat that I wore through high school is in tatters, not to mention it's too big now.  It's a mens' 42 and I'm a 32.   Too big. WAAAY too big.  I could camp in it.  Same thing with the FOB hoodie I'm wearing.    I'm really getting a handle on my weight.

     My sister cried tonight because I didn't eat dinner.  Then she didn't wat hers until she thought I was asleep in the other room.  I think she was trying to pressure me to eat.   She gets it from her grandmother my mom says.  Her Grandmother was always cooking.  It was the only way she knew how to help, take care of people and show she cared.  I just really wasn't hungry though.   I've naturally cut myself down to around 1200 calories a day.  It wasn't deliberate.  It just sort of happened, so now I'm monitoring it to make sure I stay there.   I'm not trying to maintain where I'm at.  I'm still trying to loose.   I want a flat stomach and the smooth hips my genetics entitle me to.   I tried to tell her I'm not eating unless my body tells me I'm hungry but she didn't listen.   She cried.   Can you believe it?   It was so weird.  I mean, I didn't pull a Chris and throw the plate of food all over her or anything.  I just wasn't hungry.   It's like when I tell them I'm not eating junk food because I'm watching what I eat and they say that I'm making them feel bad.   They're both a size FOUR.   A SIZE FOUR!   I'm not near that.   (But wouldn't I look scary if I were a size four?) 

      They know how I am about eating though.  I hardly eat.  It doesn't interest me anymore.   On days like today when I havea touch of depression I just can't help myself.  If I eat I know it will open a door and I'll jsut sit and eat and eat and eat and eat trying to fill the void.   I believe that's how I gained a fuckton of weight in '08, yes?  I wanna be skinny.   I wasted so much time being heavy.   Now is my time to be who I've always wanted to, but first I have to have the body I want.

      Which reminds me Max is hitting the gym.   He said "I want to be buff for you."  And I think I laughed my ass off for like four minutes.  I didn't give him a yay or nay on it.  Long as he's happy with himself is what matters.  I'm not stickign around forever.   Besides, I like that lanky thin look on my men.   One of my sisters teases me about it.   Every time she says "That man looks like he needs to eat a few cheeseburgers" you know it's a guy I'm interested in.  Tall and lanky.  That's how I like 'em.  Max is neither and yet I love the man.  Funny isn't it?  I'm too young to settle though.   I've this new self confidence that encourages me to go out and meet new people, try new things.   Max and I met when I was first going vegan.  He was into me because of  the books I read and the music I listened to, and you know, compliments when you have a wrecked self esteem really gasses a person up.  So I went with him.  Now we're back again.  Why?  5'6" with a round face and a head of crazy curls isn't exactly my scene.    But, he is an amazing conversationalist.   That is when he's not being a typical teenage boy.  Really, that's the big turn off for me.  I'm like Dusty Springfield.  I don't want to be lusted after.   Not really.

Yes, that man.  That man is Neil Tennant, and that man has made me realize a few things about myself tonight.

I started on anothet blog where my own hatred of my face came up.  I mean, I really can't stand my  face.  Especially my profile.  When I turn my head to the side I think I look stupid.  As in, mentally there's something dull about me.  I get upset when I realize that is how I look all the time.   I wonder why the limited boyfriends and girlfriends I've had in the past wanted me.  I want to put on heavy make-up, big sunglasses, wrap my hair about my face and hide behind a hoodie when I leave the house. 

I posed for some pictures for an art project and I was digusted when I saw myself.  I've never felt more unattractive in my life than I do when I think about those pictures.  I feel fat, ugly and everything but beautiful.   My looks have been itching at me since The Nightlife Girls outing.  I was terribly camera shy that day and with good reason.  I hate the side of my face and so much that we do are side shots or the rare one of me smiling where my teeth are visible.  (I hate, hate, hate, hate, hate, hate, hate, HATE my teeth.  I had bad orthodontics done.  My mouth makes me look like a total simp.)  I don't liek the way I look on film.  I can't stand having my picture taken, especially if I'm not turned just right. 

I don't do myself anygood by picking at these things, but I can't help it.  I'll never like myself.  I'll never be thin enough.  I'll never be pretty enough.  I have times where I feel I'm so ugly that no one should look at me.  Prom my junior year I had to be coaxed out of my bedroom because I felt so nasty.   And even at that I went home early to cry and try to hide until my dad pushed me out the door again.  And while I know it's wrong, I've secreatly clung to my diease a good year or so now because I feel like the moment I say "I look ok."  is when I'm in denial and going to get fat and homely again.

I'm not the most talented person I know.  All I have to offer is my body.  So, my looks have become the one thing I'm always measuring myself on.  I am nothing if I am not attractive.  No one wanted to listen to me if I am not pretty.  No one gives a damn about me if I am not one of the beautiful women in the room.  Right now I'm down with the H1N1 virus and all I can think about is how fat Iam and how stupid my hair looks and how nasty my skin is.  People tell me not to feel this way, that I'm just fine.   But they just don't get it.  It's a nasty circle.  I'll never be happy with myself.  Doctor gives me pills to help it.  Pills cause me to retain weight.  I feel worse about myself than before.  I relapse.

Unless I look perfect I am worthless.  That's the bottomline.  And this is where Neil comes into play.

I say he's a reasonably attractive man, and in my opinion he is, but he's not exactly praised for his good looks. On the commentary for Pop Art there's a moment when he says "ew" at seeing his profile. He continues on to say that he has to always be shot straight on, that that is his only good angle. I beg sharply to differ. But it does show there there is some insecurity there. The man who I admire intensely, doesn't like the way he looks. Yet, he means so much to so many people.

       When he stepped out on that Chicago stage he commanded the room. We'd've followed the man to our graves if only he'd asked. Neil Tennant doesn't make People Magazine's most beautiful list, yet he's fabulous in the very sense of the world. He's stunning not for that Wallace and Gromit face of his (which I'm rather fond of, I might add) but for his mind and a voice like a warm steel.

      He makes me swoon whenever I press play.  I value his thoughts on everything.  Every interview I've seen of the man he leaves me hanging on each word he says.  If ever I were to call someone a role model with would Neil Tennant.  Yet, he picks at his looks, rips himself down and struggled to gain confidence.  And, reading those early interviews, it breaks my heart.  On some level  though, it also inspires me.   Neil iksn't a man of conventional looks, but he's vivid and admirable.  The masses enjoy his art.  Eventually he gained confidence and saw himself as the worthwhile creature he is. 

And I ask myself, if it was good enough for Neil why isn't good enough for me? 

Why do I put so much on appearance when people are contstantly proving that looks mean nothing?  I think no one will want me, no one will care to read my writing and no one will give a damn unless I'm beautiful.   Yet, my own icon proves otherwise. 

There's no need to stop improving myself, but there is need to change the way I see things. Beauty is meaningless. It pains me to write it. 

I'm not beautiful.  It is a gift reserved for the few.   I am a valuable person.  And whether or not I have a dumb looking face won't hinder that.  The only thing that dulls my future is the restricts I put on myself.

HERES WHAT TO DO: Step 1: Put your music player on shuffle.Step 2: Post the first line from the first 40 songs that play, no matter how embarrassing. Step 3: Strike through the songs when someone guesses both artist and track correctly. Step 4: For those who are guessing -- looking the lyrics up on a search engine is CHEATING! Step 5: If you like the game post your own

[Pet Shop Boys are Chris Lowe (Left) and Neil Tennant (Right)]

     Hey Emo Kid, tired of crying yourself to sleep listening to the downward crooning of Dashboard Confessional? Looking for a new scene? Wanna be completely rebellious? Choose happiness. Take the disco drug the good folks of England have been taking for decades! Try a little PSB!

Pet Shop Boys (or “Pets” as they call themselves collectively) formed in 1982 after a chance meeting in an electronics shop. What started as an after work project became a full-fledged career after then music journalist Neil Tennant had lunch with NYC record producer Bobby ‘O.’ While the Pets time spent with the legendary producer was ill fated it did bring light to the electric keyboard stylings of Chris Lowe and the stainless voice of Neil Tennant to the dance hall masses of Europe. Under new management the band had a long awaited hit with the infamous track “West End Girls.”

         Americans, Europeans, Australians, Japanese, the collective of South America and even Dusty Springfield hopped onto the Pet Shop Boys bandwagon. Or at least they had until the dark love ballads of the Hair Metal era blocked out the sunlight of dance. Those who stayed to the Boys knew why. Pet Shop Boys were more than just “West End Girls” and “Opportunities (Let’s Make Lots Of Money.)”

        They were a symbol of happiness and passive satire. Tracks such as “Happiness is an Option” speak this truth for it’s self. With it’s chorus of “Don’t give up now/Happiness is an option” it proves that unlike their frowning peers Pet Shop Boys encourage their fans to dream and be more than just the record buying masses. Having started late in their lives as pop stars (Lowe was in his late-twenties and Tennant in his early thirties) Pet Shop Boys attempt to relay not only a message of hope but one of humanity. Though perhaps not the most cheerful video, “Red Letter Day” serves as a prime example of Pet Shop Boys relatable nature.

         Aside from walking out on stage in cubic-get-up there is nothing anti-human about Pet Shop Boys. They aren’t afraid to put into music topics that most would shun. Pain plays out to 122.7 BPM in “Hit and Miss,” a danceable ballad about an untrue lover. The story of a ‘kept woman’ is sang in “Rent.” A sexual encounter with an Emeniem-esce rapper is the basis of “The Night I Fell in Love,” and most dangerous of all, the reality of a cruel woman causing a man to embrace closeted homosexuality is implied in “Can You Forgive Her?”

           Behind every track, no matter how “shallow” there is a heartbeat. That’s the way of true disco. To up lift, get the heart racing and force the body to dance without the crash of depression. And that is why it’s such a crime to be a Pet Shop Boys fan.

        In this era of modern music based on break-ups and over doses topping the charts it is a sin to listen to someone with a positive or humorous message. So, Mister and Missus Scenester, you wanna be a rebel? Pick up a Pet Shop Boys album.

Tracks:

"West End Girls"

"Opportuniries (Let's Make Lots of Money) US"

"It's a Sin"

"What Have I Done to Deserve This?"

"Paninaro '95"

"Don't Know What You Want, But I can't Give it Anymore"

"You Only Tell Me You Love Me When You're Drunk"

"Did You See Me Coming?"

"Go West"

I'm home.

Tucker bounded to see and whined while I put my bags down.  He wasn't content until I'd have him a hug and said I missed him.   I'd been sure I missed him for than he missed me, but that wasn't the case at all.  I won't lie, I miss Chicago.   I miss the friends we made.  I miss the party.  But I also missed my dog.

It's going to take a while to adjust back to life home.   Scientific studies blamed Disco Biscuits for the suicide rate amongst club kids, but the Twins and I see that's not the case.  It's the manic high of the dance party scene.  I mean, I'd never experienced it before.  I can't get enough.  All senses are explored.  The brain is multi-tasked to the maxium point.  All I could do was dance and get swept up with the good vibes of the crowd and the building disco heart beat of the music.  And yes, we all were sober.

That was the great thing about Pet Shop Boys fans.  There was no passing of any substances other than booze.  It was all natural.  We mingled with everyone, made a ton of friends and there was never any "Hey man, try this."  Which is more than I can say for other shows I've been to. 

The Twins and I are going to be Friday night club scenesters.   That's the only medium we can find.  We've become electric addicts.  We always knew it.  Disco raises the pulse, that's why a set builds then settles.  DJ are very systematic about what they choose.  It's all a physical and emotional experience.  And we need more.

I'm gonna be a DJ, someday, you guys.

I'll do a concert blog, I PROMISE! Right now, though I should try and sleep.   Again, everyone, thank you for your comments!  I'll start being more active soon!

Stay Beautiful,

Madison

It was the greatest night of my life.  Every concert I've been to has been subpar in comparision.  Seriously.

I'll be doing a full-on blog about it a little later.  I need to hope in the shower and drive to T.H. to have lunch with Patrick, get Ash something from Headstones and then come back to Indy to get mommy and say good-bye to Bretta and the kiddos.

Thanks everyone for reading.  It's really made my trip twice as magical.

-Bises-

My OCD has made this trip really hard.  Pet Shop Boys or not, I was going to back out.  Yet, I went anyway and felt sick until we got across the state line.  And being stuck someplace like this hasn't soothed me.  It's my own problem.   I don't feel good enough.  I have the holiday blues.   Last night as we were falling asleep my mother thanked me for staying with her in Indy.   I guess I'd been invited to stay in Terre Haute with the twins.  I had no idea.  ~_~  It's good that I did this.  I mean, my sister's family gave me thirty bucks for my birthday AND I bought silver nail polish.  :^D 

Tomorrow night the twins will be here and I can't wait.  Tomorrow night I will decend into electric bliss.   Tomorrow night will be fantastic.

Tonight Bretta, Brett and my mum are dragging me to see Star Trek at IMAX.   Having enjoyed the original series I didn't want to see it, but it is at an IMAX.  PLUS, the movie theatre had the time listing wrong in the paper so they're giving us free tickets to see it at 22:30 tonight!   Yay for free movies!  Even if it sucks, at least it was free, yeah?  

Someone had to be traditional in our family.   Bretta was the one.  The Twins and I weren't.  We were the artists,   We didn't get married and we don't have children.  The big fancy house and the Jag in the drive aren't our aspirations.  All I want is a place in the UK and my books published.  

In a way, how I feel now should be fuelling my writing.  One character is ritzy and tried to move away from his roots to a more traditional life.   His younger brother is a hooker.   The younger brother has to stay in his older brother's London flat.   So far he's been fine with it, but I'm sure, now that I think of it, he has feelings of inferiority.

Tomorrow I'll be in Chicago.  Tomorrow I'll be in the theatre with dance icons. 

I probably won't update until Tuesday, so if you're on Facebook watch my status updates.  :^)  I like to post the random things I experience.