Thursday, 7 February 2008
That's "Impossible" by Shout Out Louds. I really like the video, it makes me sad and happy at the same time. And of course that song is amazing.
I'm in love with the last Shout Out Louds album, it's just so POP. The simple lyrics are nice as well: "Oh I'm fainting, I don't stand a chance. Meat Is Murder and I don't even dance." Bought it yesterday, I also spent a fortune on the 7'' "Britney" by I'm From Barcelona, I couldn't resist.
Yesterday I spent all day in the museum, but most of it wasn't working, it was waiting. I stood around for more than an hour waiting for groups to arrive. Everyone was late. In the end the blonde information desk boy and I talked for ages about books and other stuff. It's so great to work with nice people! I know it's strange to look forward to working, but those are the people I see most at the moment and it's all so simple. No personal drama. They don't even know me very well and that's perfectly alright. I actually dread the end of the exhibition which is on right now because it means I'll spend less time in the museum and the whole uncomplicated cameraderie will crash to nothing. To prevent an oncoming depression I signed up for the football exhibition today. It's in another building though. My brother is probably going to work there as well which makes me happy.
My favourite co-worker, Benedikt, won't be there which makes me sad. He's a bit like a long-lost older brother to me. I need brothers and silly crushes and nothing else. All of which I can get on an average Saturday afternoon in the museum - plus my favourite sort of chocolate which they sell in the shop.
In other news, I finished "Women in Love". I am hugely impressed. "He wanted to keep certain illusions, certain ideals like clothing." There was something about this book that made me go cross-eyed. Rupert Birkin, as a character, was incredible. I can't remember when I loathed and loved characters so much at the same time. It made them totally believable. Birkin's ideal of love is SO spot-on. It's me, on paper. Except I'm able to admit to myself that I like me, which he can't really.