wimble), almost to the extent of pogoing round the lounge, were it not for the minor detail that if I did start jumping for joy, I'd land on picture frames, laptop, CDs or other things unlikely to be improved by sudden close encounters with my size 6s.Not that my mood was all that far down to start with, you understand, even if it does not look like I will get to spend Saturday evening flirting shamelessly with
thalinoviel, since the dozy tart (I use this term with affection, honest) has managed to part herself from her bike again. The week hasn't been too bad at all. Cooked dinner for friend, the prospect of a pleasant evening's poker tomorrow night, rotwang's talk yesterday apparently having gone pretty well, and indeed getting rotwang back shortly, albeit horribly early on Sunday morning. Try not to wake me up on your way in, dear.I really need to look into getting a new CD player one of these decades. The existing one, now a venerable 12 years old or so, is just not happy with the concept of playing CDs written on my laptop's external CD writer, and also the drawer has never quite been the same since we moved; it requires some manual intervention to persuade it to open all the way and return one's treasured discs. On the other hand, the alternative CD-playing technology is to do so through the DVD burner, which gives full Dolby Surround Sound on the CDs... a little odd, to say the least. Very heavy on the bass, though that isn't necessarily a bad thing (especially not when Placebo's The Bitter End is involved, as it is at the moment).
I've been pondering some of the stuff in my MP3 collection at the moment, and I've come to a conclusion... long outros (as opposed to intros) really irritate me. Some artists seem to have no conception of when a song should end. The obvious example is of course the Beatles' Hey Jude; I mean, who really gives a toss about three or four minutes' bimbling on "Na na na na na na na, na na na na, hey Jude". Likewise, the Divine Comedy's otherwise lovely song National Express. Three minutes or so of great stuff and then at least a minute and a half mumbling "National Express, National Express" for no readily ascertainable reason. Another lengthy song where the outro almost works is The The's Uncertain Smile, though the 80s electronica (and this'll undoubtedly be where someone pops up and tells me it was in the 90s instead; if it wasn't in the 80s, it damn well ought to have been) of the song itself contrasts a little oddly with the 70s-Bowie-esque piano twiddling that concludes that track.
