OMFG possibly the best 2 mintues and 55 seconds of my life

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jlu_QoeJSKw

So, somehow two of my favourite people on Earth have met, collaborated and (let's be honest) probaby pashed. To come across this video was such an delight that I almost spat out my sake with excitment. This is my favourite description of the video:

"Ms, Sevigny plays a "post-apocalyptic go-go dancer set loose in a Dada-ist pastiche of psychedelic imagery and characters. Unfortunately it isn't a Hugo Ball-style Brown Bunny homage."

(Ok, so I didn't know who Hugo Ball was either. According to wikipedia, his is the founder of the Dada movment; which aimed to overthrow the bourgeois ideals of art to create a form of 'anti-art' which would destroy traditional culture and aesthetics and offened everyone. It has been described as "the sickest, most paralyzing and most destructive thing that has ever originated from the brain of man." Obviously, it is right up Ms. Sevigny's alley. You can look at some delightful Dada works on this website: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=5191892 Also of interest, this is apparently an example of a post-post modern Dada: http://www.platinumgrit.com/poke.html Perhaps this is the closest we will get to a Dada homage to The Brown Bunny.)

What would be truly amazing is if, when I see Beck in Osaka in March, Chlo Sev will be there, wearing this EXACT oufit and make up, and will perform her dance to this song slash every song in the Beck set. Then perhaps we could hang out after the show, getting out of control in downtown Osaka, WITH Beck, doing tequila shots and ending up at karaoke where she and I would do a romantic slash wasted duet of 'Crying' and maybe 'Nothing Compares 2 U' for good measure.

OK, so I am getting a bit too excited now, but lets be honest; it could happen.

Snow and Self-deprecation

Today at school, I went through the traumatising task of marking my English class’s diaries. A favourite topic for students is their Club Activity, mainly because it takes up about a third of their life. For those of you who don’t know, Japanese schools like to take the idea of an after school activity and run with it. From what I have gathered in my six months in Japan, each student chooses a Club Activity to supplement their school workload, be it baseball, soccer, archery or tea ceremony club (exactly what it sounds like; the Japanese version of ‘ladies who lunch’). Each student is only allowed to choose ONE Club Activity, and there is no changing Clubs in midstream; if you start playing basketball when you hit puberty, your shooting hoops until you’re a man. Also, art and music are included in this category, so if one is artistic AND athletic, Japan may not be your cup of green tea. It’s like a co-curricular Sophie’s Choice. Art class is primarily a lesson in fruit bowls and vases of customary flowers, and I have heard rumours that the art is thrown away at the end of each year, due to something about the school supplying the materials. Odd.

Anyway, the students must practise their Club Activity for approximately four hours a day and it never seems to get them anywhere. This is where the diaries come in. No matter how hard they practice, how many hours of hard labour they put it, it’s never enough. I have to mark diary like:

‘I practiced the trumpet for four hours this morning. We had a concert practice this afternoon. I played a wrong note by mistake. I have no talent.’

I try and write semi-uplifting comments like ‘I am sure you will do better next time!’ but no matter how many smiley faces I draw enthusiastically in red pen, it still kills me a little inside. Green tea helps of course.

It’s snowing outside again. I wonder if there is a way to have snow without the cold, because cold is the killer.If snow was less chilly, or lukewarm, there would be snowmen everywhere. I might Google it.

A teacher’s cellphone just went off really loudly. The ringtone was ‘Lovefool’ by The Cardigans. Amazing.

...where do I begin? Why of course, with Gin!

And so, being bored, literate and full of coffee, I have decided to start a blog. I have pondered the name for hours, going over endless combinations of ridiculous things which could have worked but probaby wouldn't (I confess to briefly considering the idea of calling it 'Suicide Brunette'), but when it came down to it, there was only one name which would work; The perfect combination of Bombay Sapphire gin and Seinfeld’s Elaine Benes. As I sit here writing, I have one small wish for the gods to grant; I wish to get a big bottle of gin, some tonic and a bag of lemons (or preferably limes, being a pretentious ex-Cuba Street indie kid) and get wasted with Elaine.

I think gin would suit Elaine. I have always thought that different alcohols served as different kinds of drunk. With white wine, one slides slowly into drunkenness, hardly aware of it as it creeps up on you, suddenly realising that your words are slurring and you need to retain your last few motor skills to work that corkscrew one more time. With red, it’s more or less the same, but with a hefty sense of attitude. Red wine drunk makes people intellectual, or at least think they’re intellectual. Deep seated opinions and ridiculous theories come spilling out because people think that by getting drunk (not just drinking but getting DRUNK) on red wine, they are now members of some cultural elite, even with their stained teeth. Vodka drunk, to me, has always been the most dangerous of the inebriations. This is mainly because it has no taste and therefore no limit. Vodka drunk is always a perilous walk (or stumble) on the edge, frequently ending in tears, or vomit or a blank slate which is painfully filled in the next morning between bouts of hangover.

Tequila is a step further still; the closest the alcohol world has to a hallucinogenic drug. It’s a party in a glass, and a single shot can have you walking into walls. Then there’s beer drunk; arguably the dullest and most laborious kind. With beer, your intellectual level goes down, and there’s always the double bugbear of feeling bloated and having to piss every ten minutes. Beer drunk is both an easy and difficult thing to achieve and good if you don’t want to do anything for the rest of the evening, talk about sex in a basic way and eat fried chicken. It reminds me of my building site days, when somehow you were a pussy if you drank anything over 6 percent.

Whiskey is a mature drunk. Suddenly things make sense in an excellent way and you feel totally grown up. This is because Whiskey is cruel mistress; she’ll treat you mean if you’re underage and its best to have a few bad vodka experiences before tentatively filling your glass with Canadian Club. Things can get heavy on whiskey, but good heavy, like being wrapped in a really thick, cosy duvet.

But for me, Gin drunk takes the crown. It’s got the best bits of all of them: the intellectual stimulation of red wine, the maturity of whiskey and, most importantly, the disguised party nature of tequila. Gin is the true party spirit; the world’s best kept secret. Music sounds better on gin; cigarettes taste better. Conversations become dream things, the stars sparkle. People who disown gin as ‘an old people’s drink’ don’t realize that this is only the case because they got there first. On a good night, with a few friends and some Daft Punk on the stereo, it can change your life.

So, back to Elaine. Gin and Ms. Benes...can anyone think of a better alcohol/TV character combination? Think of the conversations, the anecdotes, the DANCING!!! I am also pretty sure I could convince her join me for a sneaky cigarette or three on the balcony. And then, for the rest of the night, we would have New York to party in, and who, in any possible mindset, could possibly ask for more than that?

And so, that is my dream, my inspiration and my muse for all that follows. My hope is my writing can one day be as good as that; as amazing and as truly awe-inspiring combination of Bombay and Elaine.