I Blame Coldplay

Hello! Remember me? I used to be a blogger who posted upwards of 3-4 times per month?!


(insert apologetic rambling stuff riddled with excuses about not posting here...)

Good. Now that's out of the way, let's blog baby!

Now, where was I? Ah, yes. 'I blame Coldplay.'

Actually, maybe it's Kate Bush's fault. It was with Kate Bush that I discovered a great new game I could play all by myself at 11 years old. A game called 'let's pretend you're in a 'Music Video.''

Here's how you play-- whatever you are doing, be it walking down to the corner shop, sitting in the backseat of your parents' car, sulking in your bedroom, pretend that you are in fact in a 'Music Video.' You will need some background music for this, preferably Kate Bush's 'The Man with A Child in His Eyes' but Human League's 'Don't You Want Me Baby' will serve you equally well -- especially if you are tonging your hair.

If you prefer to go with a 'live' performance then a hairbrush is a must-have (naturally) and I would recommend the privacy of your own bedroom, where you can play 'your music' on a 'record player.' If you are taking this to the streets, then a Sony Walkman to play your 'cassette tape recordings' is required.

Once you have these items in place, you have a great deal of creative flexibility as to how you perform in your 'video.' With Kate Bush you might like to gyrate wildly but very, very dramatically around your room -- especially if that song is Wuthering Heights (Heathcliffe! it's me, your Cathy, I've come ho-o-o-o-me. It's me in your windo-o-o-w). But take care with the lyrics -- they are seriously deep and need to be intoned (or mouthed if you prefer) with the appropriate expression of mysterious and yet penetrating angst.

If you are making your video in public, then a certain level of discretion and a good deal of imagination is required. Yes, to an onlooker you might well look like some pimply-faced teen slumping down the street with a pair of head-phones on, but little do they know that a camera is on you and the end result will be a highly produced (quite possibly black and white) montage sequence: 'disaffected working class girl walks through scene of urban blight.' That's you missy, and guess what, you're in the new Smiths video!

I wish I could say that I have grown out of this adolescent game, but every so often an instance avails itself where I just can't help myself. Coldplay on the iPod while I commute is a surefire trigger. One minute I'm charging through the ticket gates to only just catch my train (again) and the next minute I am deep in the reverie of 'Warning Sign' (When the truth is,
I miss you. Yeah the truth is, That I miss you so) . Lights. Camera. Action. And I'm ON.

Add to that an email that appears on your PDA from a dear friend Back Home who tells you of a dream where you appeared back in Michigan...

"When I went to hug Joy, she said I shouldn't get near her because she had some kind of communicable disease.... Then, when we put Jack and J___ [our sons] together, and thought they'd be excited to see each other again, they didn't even really remember each other. I felt very sad in the dream, thinking that they were forgetting each other."


Add that and suddenly you're a blubbering mess on the train, and so the only way to stop your fellow passengers noticing your outpouring is to retreat inside your head and be in the Coldplay video about Loss. Channel that sorrow into a brilliant performance that your adolescent self would have truly envied.

(I miss you too A. Horribly. And everyone there. But, uh, 'communicable disease'??)