I remember when I first read a Maya Angelou poem. I was literally awestruck. I was in high school and we were studying poetry in English class. We studied Norman MacCaig, William Shakespeare, Emily Dickinson and few others. Maya Angelou wasn’t one of them, actually. I was on the Internet one day after school and was looking poetry up on the web, when I stumbled across one of hers.

A few years later, I saw her on the TV and was really blown away. She has an amazing presence, even when you’re watching her on the TV. She is a beautiful woman, inside and out, and her words and actions speak for themselves. I think if I met her, I’d be overwhelmed by her. Her presence and humbleness are two qualities you don’t see very often in someone as famous and revered as her.

I’d like to think that if I was famous, I’d be humble, but having achieved small fame in high school, I can say back then, if I wasn’t in a wold of my own, I was a cocky bastard. As mentioned, I had two modes: A world of my own and cocky bastard.

I’d sit on the benches near the dining hall and read a book, or just stare into space. I didn’t much care for many of the other pupils. Come to think of it, I never really had any friends, either. Don’t be sad, because I wasn’t. I’ve always been happy to meander around in my own world, in “a parallel universe,” as my mum and one of my teachers said.

Miss Jones. She really knew me. Annoyed the hell out of me at times, but I knew that it was for my own good. There was this one time, I got into a scrap, as usual. She saw the tail end of it and it consisted of me hitting a boy, nicknamed “Pecker”, who was reputed to be one of the toughest people in the school. I knocked him fair and square to the ground and he didn’t get back up for a good minute. Miss Jones saw this and, unlike all other teachers, heard both sides of the argument and took my side. She sent Pecker out of the class and admonished me for fighting, but I could see in her eyes, the expression “good on you!” It was Miss Jones who made me more aware of my handwriting and my creative writing.

If I told you my handwriting was compared to Hieroglyphs, you’d get a small impression of it. If I showed you the actual handwriting, you’d be confuserated: It’s a spider web of Hieroglyphs. But Miss Jones saw this and tried to help me. Of course, having gone through six years of primary school already, and being told that my handwriting was terrible, but having no help to fix it, really did help ingrain the fact that I’d never manage to improve. But against all odds, I did improve. My handwriting slowed down, I was more careful, I always had a sharp enough pencil. I can’t remember exactly, but I think Miss Jones is left handed as well. I’ve said this before and will continue to say it: Left handers should be taught by left handers. At least in the handwriting stakes.

We’ve had to develop some cunning ways around our handedness. We have to rotate our wrists at almost a 90 degree angle, so that we don’t smudge our writing. To that end, fountain pens and pens with slow drying ink are pretty much a no-no, unless you wanna work out yet another writing style. Actually, there’s a funny story involving a belt, a fountain pen and Miss Jones.

It was on a school trip to Scotland Street Museum, which serves as a historical archive of the education system of Scotland. It was designed by Charles Rennie Mackintosh, who I think is overrated, but does deserve credit for designing hundreds, possibly thousands of buildings around Scotland. Anyway, Miss Jones was dressed as a teacher would be in the 1960s, in Scotland, with the cloak and the belt, and I think there was even a mortar board. She was teaching us how to write with a fountain pen, which I loved, and still do to this day. The way the ink flows, is like no other. Certainly better than a frigging ball point! So, then we moved on to the discipline part of the tour and Miss Jones, who I nicknamed Slavedriver Jones, broke out the belt and pretended to give people six of the belt. I was one of those people and it was really fun. It’s a little embarrassing thinking of it now, but I wanted her to actually hit me with that belt. I suppose you could say that was my first brush with pain for pleasure, though thankfully she didn’t hit me with it. It would have lost her her job, but when that part of the lesson was finished, I stayed behind and collared one of the girls, so that she could hit me with the belt. I guess I’ve always been a pervert, but we shall leave that for another site.

So, from Maya Angelou, to probably a bit more than you wanted to know about me, that seems to be how my brain works. Of course, that’s what I love about conversation. It just evolves and you could start out talking about something as dry as overcooked roast beef, then with the proper conversational partner, be talking about something exciting. Of course, you get those ones who just talk about the same subject all the way through and go over the same points, which is annoying.

I love radio talk shows. There’s this guy called Nick Abbot, currently on a station called LBC. He doesn’t do the kinds of shows he used to, which is a good thing and a bad thing. It means he doesn’t get fined and possibly booted off the station, a thing which has happened in his career a lot. He start out as a Shock Jock and his show was really quite chaotic, but there was also a bit of a conversation going on. A very chaotic conversation. He’d have people on there talking their minds about controversial subjects, swear a lot and just generally have fun. A lot of his fans say that Virgin was the golden era, and I agree, but his time on Talk Radio, latterly Talk Sport, was pretty good too. That’s where I heard him first and grew to like him. I had this old racing bike and would listen to him on my personal stereo. That’s a Walkman, for those who don’t know, and for those who don’t know what a Walkman is, it’s a portable cassette player, sometimes with a radio on it - an analogue radio, none of this digital pish. Sound is analogue in nature, so should stay that way. Mine had a radio, so I’d go out to the porch, tune my radio in to Talk and listen to Nick while fixing and doing general maintenance on my bike. My mum would be in the other room listening to him through her headphones on her radio because my dad didn’t like him. Now he has to just put up with it. We listen to Nick, so get over it, sorta thing. Nick had this thing on his show called a Lightning Round. He’d start a phrase, then the listeners would have to finish it, but once you were finished, you were gone. On and gone, as he used to say. Sometimes he’d have a Freeform Lightning Round and you could say whatever you wanted. Usually, he’d go screenless for this, so his finger was constantly hovering over the dump button, in case someone said something they shouldn’t. I decided to phone up for a Lighting Round and then froze. The next week I did it again and came out with a phrase which would render my face red every time there was a Lightning Round. Transcript:

Nick: 5! [The line number].
Me: *Silence*
Nick: 5, please!
Me: *In a rather overly-enthusiastic voice* Why was I such a prune last week?
Nick: Who? Who was such a prune?
Me: *Still overly-enthusiastic* Me! I was line two last week and I shrivelled up!
Nick: *In his usual sarcastic, quick off the bat way* and you still suck!

That was pretty much the kind of thing he’d do. Insult his listeners and just go blundering his way through his programme. Now, he’s decidedly more calm, but he has his moments.

I can’t quite tell if it’s an age thing, but people do tend to mellow in their old age. Or get lazy, however you wanna put it. I’m pretty laid back, but I do have my moments of being fired up. Usually over something I want, like a new bass.

I was in the town with Jan yesterday. She’s been my friend for nearly ten years, so I think it’s fair to say that we know each other pretty well. I’ve talked about how cool and kind she is before. We were going past a place called Cash Generators. They’re like a pawn shop, but more socially acceptable. She saw this Strat-style guitar and said that Skud, her son, needs a new guitar. Then I noticed the bass. It was a Westfield with soapbar pickups. Four string, which usually isn’t my thing, but I’m fancying one. I prefer five strings, by the way. Jan said that she’d buy me a bass when she got some money. Yeah, I was pretty blown away and just said something along the lines of “that would be awesome!”

“Awesome.” Yeesh. A word I don’t use a lot, but if Jan bought me a bass, I would be awestruck, so yeah, I’m using it in the correct sense. It irks me that it has become just another word when people really mean “well, that’s a nice happenstance!” Though, I suppose I should just get over it, evolution of language and all.

Speaking of evolution, I think this rambling thing has evolved into the end. I quite enjoyed myself. Should I edit and proofread it? I usually don’t with my musings, but I might just with this one. I’ll listen to BABYMETAL when I’m editing. Oh, I’m not shouting, that’s just how they stylise their name. Very strange band, they are. If you like overly catch pop, Japaneseness, metal and dance fused into one, you’ll love 'em! Explains why I like them. I’m very strange myself, eclectic and eccentric all that.

Well, I shall end this.
Kittylove
Andrew =^.^=