you are not alone

http://thisisit-movie.com

Dear Diary, my teen-angst bullshit now has a body count

Grow up Heather, bulimia's so '87.

I'm in such a weird state of mind... I feel as if my brain is floating on an alcoholic limbo lake between sobriety and shitshow.

Stay classy like me and mix white wine, beer, vodka, gin, tequila and sambuca. Today = ouch. My friend buying me a mojito (my love!) at 93 Feet East was probably not the best idea either of us had: my brain felt like it was being perpetually kicked by someone wearing spiked boots whilst simultaneously crashing together two steel bin lids. Or, fucked gently with a chainsaw as Queen Heather would say.

Comically enough, I was in my element dressed like an extra from Heathers and so me and said friend (who was rockin' 80s ghetto chic - think Spike Lee's Do the Right Thing) proceeded to adopt American accents and re-enacted some key scenes in the sunny east end. I thought I saw the lead singer of TV on the Radio as well. I didn't. I did make a twat out of myself though singing aloud out of key to Kanye West's 'heartless' uncontrivedly... why isn't that a word?

I leave you with me camping it up a la Heathers. Good thing this Mac's not mine - pretty sure Photobooth should be renamed iVain:

For a happy person I love sad love stories.

"I was born when you kissed me. I died when you left me. I lived a few weeks while you loved me."

I re-watched Nicholas Ray's In a Lonely Place two nights ago. The first time I watched it I was exhausted (after an all nighter doing work last minute...as always Just- Radiohead comes to mind) but still loved it. The second time I was totally absorbed by the ending, it's really heartbreakingly, devastatingly cruel. I'd recommend it to anyone who loves classical Hollywood/ film noir or a sad love story. It's a masterpiece and Bogart is such a good actor and Gloria Grahame is stuuuunning. I would have loved to have been a classical Hollywood actress - showering in melodrama and glamour! I am also jealous that they all have these cute little waists. My 'waist' or lack thereof starts where my legs meet my ribs. Boo.

bad ass use of paint.

Watch the trailer - I am obsessed with old trailers.

Don't you want me baby?

More often than not I put down my metrosexual drink and smirk, my local Starbuck's music has that affect on me. There are several things that perplex me about the world’s most famous coffee house.

Partly, I feel like my body is about to suffer an attack of Tyler Durden (go figure) by their overbearing Planet Starbucks presence but mainly it is the choice of music they spin on their rhumba infused decks that entertains me. Ha. The fact that I think their quality of coffee is poor and resembles dirty Ethiopian water is one thing, it is also the bane of my spending life as a student in London. All the power to the green mermaid though, I end up spending at least 7 pounds a day there, depending on whether or not I feel an attack of the sugar sweats. My morning snack(s) are what I like to refer to as an early onset of diabetes muffin (FYI the ‘breakfast muffin’ is riddled with raisins, and I don’t do raisins), or just two coffees to keep me awake. The caramelised Belgian chocolate chunk is by far their finest, the blueberry one tastes like bananas if you were interested (and I’m allergic to those bad boys). For me and le posse, it’s also the perfect place to kill time between lectures.

On the strip of my uni’s campus alone there are four! But enough of my rant about the cathedral of capitalism, I’m not a Marxist and I try to avoid being a hypocrite. Living in Central London, I feel like a sociologist would have a field day going in and monitoring the city banker’s/wanker’s morning watering hole (no Irish coffees here!) to see what crowds at different times of the day attract different musical compilations. Early morning lectures introduced me to pretty unadventurous jazz, or an occasional reggae vibe. I usually go in to a particular branch with my housemate at 9 30 where, by that time, Mozart and/or Handel is played. If I was a pretentious twat I would interpret this as subconsciously getting us into the realm of the intellectual I’m sure. [What? Your parents didn’t play you classic music in utero? Mine either. Ha]

At 11 when I’m not feeling quite A.D.D. enough and I need another hit, I hear ‘gold teeth and a curse for this town’ and realise that the Garden State soundtrack is being played: pass the headphones please Natalie, you crazy chick! They don’t play it once though, they loop it until about 2 pm (if I was looking to shit stir I’d spin the whole brainwashing a la Josie and the Pussycat thang) and then funk up their afternoons. Once, my friend who has a tendency of narcissistic ranting (convinced he is a good girl of 1940s film noir... you can’t make this shit up) broke away mid sentence and said ‘Why the fuck are they playing Fleetwood Mac?’ Tell me lies tell me sweet little lies. I realised I wasn’t alone in noticing the bizarre range of music choices that the baristas blend to match their blended fraps (Dark cherry mocha? Anyone? No? Dust?).

I started to become more interested in their music choices. This took my ears to the sometimes awful 80s Club Tropicana-esque classics, hipster tunes of the week (remember kids, if more than just you have heard of the band it’s no longer hip. Personally I listen to bands that don’t exist yet) to Metallica, Deep Purple, Fergie, the Slumdog Millionaire soundtrack, Bryan Adams, Leann Rimes and the Beach Boys (bless their wet trunks!). I appreciate everyone likes different music, but it interests me that if you go into a retail shop for example Mecca, I mean er... Topshop on Oxford Circus, they play popular tunes to match their demograph. Because everyone can be catered for by Starbucks (except my Dad who’s the only person I know that is so much of an inverted snob that he refuses to go anywhere that has more than two concessions) and such a diverse group of people go in they play such an eclectic mix. Starbucks even have their own albums but their track listings are always mellow; the typical music you’d expect in a coffee shop – easy going acoustic – think Jack Johnson, Joseph Arthur, perhaps if you were lucky Bon Iver. Not offensive or overly distracting while people muse away on their Macbooks, people watch, play with their hair/phone/both or gossip with friends. So I'm in for an Oracular Spectacular ride everytime I venture forth thanks to the eccentric baristas. Hayley Joel Osmond saw dead people, I see the crazies.

Maybe it’s just the staff at my most frequented Starbucks that are probably on a crack comedown: an exceptionally camp transvestite that flirts with me and gets my order wrong 1 in 3 times (so could be worse) and this European woman with bright orange hair that broke my ATM card are quite spectacularly mad. I embrace it. And sweet Jai Ho! Does it amuse me.

If this wasn’t first entry and I had any followers I’d ask “what music does your local Starbucks play?” because I’m genuinely intrigued and more enthusiastically keen than a kid on 50 cans of Asian Fanta.

Peace, straws and napkins for cleaning my clutzing up (I always spill my coffee all down me). Ouch. I blame their startling song selection, Faye x