Actually, given the number of tries I had to have at spelling 'slightly', maybe a bit more than slightly.
It's been my birthday all day today and I blew most of it on the unheroic business of putting off all the work I was supposed to be doing. In fact at the point that May 26th (not my birthday) gave way to the 27th (no longer not my birthday) I was, hem hem, tidying my iPod. This may be some indication of how old I now am, that as Friday night became Saturday morning, I was at home on my own, finally facing up to the fact that I don't really want a load of Zoviet*France on my iPod. (Principally on the -- I have to say -- not unreasonable grounds that I mostly listen to my iPod on the train or the bus, and most Zoviet*France tracks sound pretty much identical to the train and the bus. If I mostly listened to my iPod at the supermarket I'd erase all the Shakatak. Bada bing bada boom.) Also I needed to free up some space for a few new bits and pieces I wanted to stick on there. I really like the new Paul Simon album: some of Eno's influence is a bit fudgy and Simon's voice is finally getting a little coarser, but it all sounds really awake, and 'Father and Daughter' is just a drop-dead gorgeous song. And I've also really been enjoying Ghostface Killah's Fishscale - ran into a track from it at Fluxblog a few weeks ago. It's a little silly but what else is spring for?
I've worked out that the way to approach the new Scott Walker album is to listen to one track per day. Not including the first track, which just absolutely should not be listened to, period. It's the first song I've heard in a while that's actually made me feel physically ill. There's something about the guitar figure (it's too weedy to call a riff) that just sounds to me like a musical encapsulation of demonic evil.
Anyway. Yes. Birthday. Well, not much else, during the day at least. Had some chocolate milk and a nap. Which I'd like to claim was an ageing-provoked attempt to connect with my inner four-year-old: except that connection's pretty much always running in the background. ...Odd, vertiginous feeling, suddenly, thinking that 29 years ago today I really did turn four years old. I had a toy fire engine with a working hose: with which, in a characteristically gracious gesture, I squirted the postman who came to deliver my cards.
Best -- and in fact, let's be honest, only -- toy to come my way today is something called a Buddha machine. Looks like these little fellers have been around for a while but it's all new on me. Seems like it could be just the ticket.
Nice evening, good friends, excellent Thai food, a little light tipsification; and finally, thanks to Gemma, I have a copy of Artaud's The Theatre and its Double, which I'm ashamed to say I've never read. And Jamie gave me a hat to replace the last one he bought me, which I, appallingly, lost within a week and which said something like TOXIC POO on the front. (The new one has some kind of insigne on the back, but it's too street-stylised to be legible, so I'm going to assume it's something cheery and insouciant and altogether less poo-related.)
All quite encouraging, then, on the whole: which is good, because I've got another birthday celebration looming already... On September 26th I turn 33-and-a-third, and if that's not a cue for a party, I don't know what is.